


Immortals in Sunnydale

by Spikedluv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Crossover, F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 52,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Immortals come to Sunnydale to learn about demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immortals in Sunnydale

**Author's Note:**

> Story takes place in the fall of an alternate BtVS season 5 and approximately 2 years after Hts ended.
> 
> Thanks: To everyone who beta’d this for me: Amanda, as always, beta and grasshopper extra ordinaire; Karen, ‘net bud whose fb rivals ambrosia; Elizabeth, for her HL comments; Ami, HL beta; and everyone at HLCrossroads for your helpful comments, especially Tessa. Your time and effort on this one is greatly appreciated. And thanks to Beth for help with the Latin translations.
> 
> Written: Spring, 2003 (-ish)

Chapter One

Buffy neatly staked the vampire in front of her, and quickly whirled to meet the two approaching her from the rear. She was in Holy Mother Cemetery, the last stop on her patrol route before calling it a night.

“Come on, guys,” the petite blonde spoke impatiently and rolled her eyes. “I haven’t got all night here.” She waved them forward with the fingers of the hand that gripped her stake, shaking her head to get her hair out of her face. “It’s Saturday night, and there’s a great band playing at The Bronze. We don’t want to miss it. Besides, its getting a little chilly, and I don’t want to catch a cold.”

The two remaining vampires shared a look, and charged her. Buffy stepped to the side, easily eluding their rush, kicked the one closest to her in the back as they passed her, and then threw her stake into the back of the other vamp before they could recover.

The vampire she staked dissolved into dust. Buffy quickly ran over and bent to retrieve her stake from the ground, and stood, then slammed the stake back and up into the chest of the remaining vamp, who had been attempting to sneak up behind her. Dust rained down and she took a step forward, away from the resulting cloud.

She shook dust off her leather jacket and out of her long hair, and was brushing dust off her slacks when the sound of quarreling reached her ears. She just shook her head and grimaced, as she turned to face the approaching duo.

“I could have taken him,” Willow was saying.

“Right, Red. He had you on your back, his fangs at your neck; I saw exactly how you were going to *take* him,” Spike replied nastily.

“You’re such a pig!” Willow responded, slapping his arm as she scooted around him and walked stiffly back towards Buffy. “I could too have taken him,” she muttered.

She’d been trying to use physical strength and agility to stake the vampire, not wanting to rely on her magic all of the time, but when that failed, had just been choosing the stick she was going to levitate and stake the vamp with, when Spike appeared with a growl and picked the soon-to-be-dusted vamp up, and tossed him into a nearby tree.

He’d punched the stunned vamp a few times, before finally staking it and returning to stand over Willow, who was still lying on the cold, hard ground, confused at the sudden turn-around in circumstances. He shoved the stake back into his duster pocket and lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and blew out the smoke.

“You plan on getting up anytime soon?” he asked, hiding his worry behind a facade of casual disinterest. In fact, when he’d looked over and seen Willow beneath the vamp, he’d felt fear like he never felt it before.

“I almost had him,” Willow grumbled, as the bleached-blond vampire pulled her to her feet, and the argument had begun. Embarrassment and the desire not to be a liability on Willow’s side, and gut-wrenching worry on Spike’s, had only served to fuel their squabble.

Now, Willow stomped up to Buffy with her arms crossed over her chest, her lips clenched tight, green eyes blazing. Buffy looked between Willow and Spike, rolled her eyes at their constant bickering, and asked, “You get ‘em?”

“Yes,” Willow replied shortly, without looking at Spike, who was leaning casually against a headstone behind her, his legs spread out before him, his blue eyes burning a hole into her back as he drew on the cigarette held loosely between two fingers. “Where’s Xander and Anya?” She allowed concern to cloud her eyes for a moment.

“Right here!” Xander cried, as he and Anya came crashing through the bushes. The brunette had a cut on his forehead, his clothes were rumpled, and there were grass stains on the knees of his jeans. Most of Anya’s currently-blonde hair had been pulled out of the scrunchie she was wearing for patrol, and hung about her face; a smear of dirt adorned the tip of her nose.

“Xander, you’ve been cut. You’re bleeding,” Buffy said worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m bleeding?” Xander questioned, reaching for his forehead. The ache in his head reminded Xander that the vampire they’d gone after had hit him, but he hadn’t realized he’d broken the skin.

“Here.” Willow pulled out an alcohol wipe she carried in her jacket for times like these. She wiped the wound, mumbled a short incantation, and watched as the cut above Xander’s left eye closed up and healed. She wiped the rest of the blood off his forehead and stood back. “There, good as new.” She nodded, and then wobbled.

Spike, who recognized the signs of the toll her magic use took on her body when she was already tired, was behind her immediately, placing a hand on her lower back to steady her. He wanted to pick her up and carry her home, tuck her into bed with hot chocolate - although that was mostly for himself, especially if she had marshmallows - and make sure nothing could hurt her, but he knew she’d resist any attempt to coddle her.

“Did you get him?” Buffy asked, taking another alcohol pad out of Willow’s pocket and using it to wipe the dirt off Anya’s nose.

“Yep,” Anya replied, allowing Buffy to dab at her nose, and then hefting the baseball bat she carried on patrol. “I knocked him out and Xander dusted him. Eventually.”

“Great!” Buffy beamed. “Then we’re done here. You guys still up for The Bronze?”

“Absolutely!” Willow enthused, pulling away from Spike’s steadying hand without a backward glance or a ‘thank you’. She and Buffy started walking toward the cemetery entrance, Xander and Anya close behind them.

“Yes,” Xander added sarcastically. “My aching head will feel so much better after I’ve subjected it to loud music.”

“I could use a beer,” Anya said wearily, brushing her hair out of her face.

“You’re an underage human now,” Xander reminded her, reaching up to pull the scrunchie out of the little bit of hair that was still holding it in place.

“I know,” Anya complained, letting her shoulders slump a little. “Who’d have thought I’d ever need ID?” she asked.

Spike just shook his head at Willow’s insistence on going to The Bronze. Silly chit; didn’t know when enough was enough. She should be home resting after doing a spell, even though it had just been a small one, not going out dancing. He crushed out his cigarette beneath his boot and lit another, then followed them at a distance. Somebody had to keep an eye on her.

***

“Think that was the Slayer?” a voice colored with a slight Scottish burr asked, when silence once again blanketed the cemetery. The speaker, a tall, golden-skinned man with long, dark hair pulled back in a clasp, wore a slight frown of concentration on his face, his hands shoved into the pockets of his long leather coat. They had been reconnoitering the town before their appointment the next day, and had come upon the short-lived battle.

“Unless there’s another ‘one girl in all the world’...,” his companion, a slightly shorter man with pale skin and short, dark hair, replied drolly in a mostly-British accent, a small shrug gracing his shoulders.

“Very funny.” The Scot sounded faintly annoyed. “I thought she was supposed to work alone.”

“Well, I thought there was no such thing as demons,” the other replied, turning so that his angular features caught the moonlight.

Duncan MacLeod shrugged broad shoulders. “Got me there. Shall we follow them?”

“Sure. I might even be able to find a good beer in this place. It’s got a Hellmouth and demons, gotta have a beer I haven’t tried, right?” Methos asked.

“Right. Read the label first, though,” Duncan warned with a slight grin, as he started after the others. “I’ve heard they bottle Yak urine - in some places it’s considered a delicacy.”

“That’s disgusting, MacLeod!” Methos wrinkled his nose. “Yak butter was bad enough!” He shuddered. One reason to not return to Tibet any time soon.

Methos, hands shoved in the front pockets of his battered jeans, caught up to Duncan and walked beside him as they followed the Slayer and her friends to The Bronze. The town looked like any other, but there was an undercurrent of...something...that gave him the jitters. He couldn’t wait until they had the information they were looking for and could get out of this place and back to Seacouver.

The part of town they were walking through was awfully dark and quiet, more ominous than peaceful, and Methos was glad he had his sword. Not to mention the dagger and gun he always carried. It never paid to be unprepared. Not that he was the Boy Scout; that was MacLeod’s role. He shot a covert glance at the other man. Always dragging him into trouble, Methos thought, and then grinned. Right where he wanted to be, usually.

“What’s so funny?” Duncan asked.

“Nothing,” Methos replied, slyly.

“Methos,” Duncan said his name warningly, a tone of voice that made Methos shiver.

Methos sighed deeply, and then said. “This place is trouble. I can feel it.”

Duncan was silent for a couple of minutes. “I know what you mean,” he said. “I miss Joe.”

“I miss Joe’s beer,” Methos replied.

Just then The Bronze came into view, silencing Duncan’s rebuttal. It looked like an old warehouse. There were no windows, and just a neon sign proclaiming ‘The Bronze’ to advertise its purpose. The group they were following disappeared inside, and moments later, Duncan and Methos followed them.

The inside was unexpected, given the unassuming, nay, neglected air of the exterior. There was a stage, upon which a band was performing, and a dance floor. Tables and couches provided seating; there was an upper level, and a bar along one wall. The place was packed, but a path opened before them as Methos led the way to the bar.

***

Willow, Buffy, Xander, and Anya were seated around a table with their sodas when Spike joined them, a beer bottle in hand. He didn’t say anything to the group, just took the empty seat next to Willow. Willow made a great show of ignoring him, and then headed to the dance floor with Buffy. Xander and Anya soon followed them.

Spike sat at the table watching Willow dance, growling to himself as other dancers, male dancers, swirled around her. He never took his eyes off the redhead; he could tell that she was tiring. When she and Buffy returned to the table, Willow sank heavily into her chair.

“Drink up your soda.” Spike leaned over to her, shoving her cup closer. “You need the sugar. And then I’m taking you home.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere,” Willow petulantly replied.

“Your body is exhausted,” he hissed. “You need to rest. And I am taking you home if I have to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder to do it!”

Spike’s voice was raised by the time he reached the end of his diatribe, but the loud music and conversation around them kept anyone from overhearing. Willow wanted to slap him. She also wanted to jump into his lap and kiss him. The thought of him throwing her over his shoulder brought a blush to her cheeks, and made her angry.

Stupid vampire! Why was she always falling for people who were just so *wrong* for her? And he wasn’t even a people...er, person. He was a vampire! First she dated a werewolf, and now she had - feelings - for a vampire. And she’d called *Xander* a demon magnet, she remembered. Must be the Hellmouth, she thought, as she raised the cup to her lips and finished her soda.

When she was finished, Willow stood and grabbed her jacket, then turned and walked towards the front door without telling Spike that she was leaving. He just rolled his eyes, wondering if she really thought he’d let her go that easily.

He stood and leaned over the table. “Walking Red home,” he told the Slayer. She looked away from the dance floor and up at him in surprise, and then noticed Willow’s empty chair. Spike pointed his thumb over his shoulder and Buffy spotted Willow heading for the door. She nodded her head, and Spike turned to follow Willow.

Buffy watched Spike push his way through the crowd and catch up with Willow, grabbing her arm and pulling her into him as he worked his way to the front door. “Good luck,” she said under her breath.

***

Duncan and Methos sat at the bar. Duncan was nursing a tumbler of single malt scotch; Methos was working on his second imported beer, the best he could find at The Bronze. If there were any exotic demon brews to be had in this town, they weren’t being served here.

Duncan’s arms were folded in front of him and he was leaning on the bar, lost in thought. Methos had turned around on his stool to get a better look at the people crowding the club. He was leaning back with his elbows on the bar, a beer bottle swinging from one hand, the heels of his hiking boots caught on the rungs of the stool, legs splayed.

“There goes one, make that two, of the Slayer’s friends,” Methos said, watching the redhead and the bleached-blond make their way to the front door.

Mac lifted his head from contemplation of the amber liquid in his glass, to look in the mirror behind the bar. He saw the redhead from earlier, but no sign of any of the others. “Where?” he asked.

“Right there,” Methos lifted his chin. “The redhead and the bleached-blond.”

Mac looked again. Either the blond had already made it out the door, or Methos’d had too much to drink.

“I don’t know, Mac, everyone in here seems pretty normal,” Methos said, as he lifted the bottle to his lips.

“That’s just it,” Duncan answered him, his gaze fixed on the napkin he was shredding. “How do you tell? I mean, Ahriman looked normal, too.”

“No, *he* used the images of dead people to project himself. That’s not normal,” Methos replied.

“It seemed normal, unless you already knew they were dead. How do we know these people aren’t projections of dead bodies?” MacLeod persisted.

“You’re right, Mac,” Methos sighed and slid off of the stool, placing his empty bottle on the bar. “There’s still a lot we don’t know about demons. We’ll find out more tomorrow. Come on.” He touched his friend’s arm tenderly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Duncan tilted his head and looked at Methos’ face, and then the hand on his arm, and nodded his head. “Okay,” he agreed. He finished his glass of scotch and threw a couple of bills on the bar, and then turned and followed Methos out of the club.

Chapter Two

The sun was high in the afternoon sky when Duncan MacLeod knocked sharply on the door with his knuckles, and then turned around to survey the courtyard Methos was busy exploring. Probably looking for possible traps and escape routes, knowing the old man, Duncan thought.

When no one answered the door, Duncan knocked again.

“Coming.” He heard someone call from inside, and then the door was pulled open. “Yes?” the bespectacled man who answered the door enquired.

“Mr. Giles?” Duncan turned on the charm as only he could. Methos walked around the fountain that graced the middle of the courtyard so that he could get a closer look at the fascinating Scot at work.

“Yes,” Giles replied cautiously. “And you are?” he asked curiously, as he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

“My name is Duncan MacLeod, and my associate, Dr. Adam Pierson,” he indicated the man standing behind him. Methos inclined his head in greeting.

Giles continued to stare at them in confusion. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me?” he finally asked in confusion.

“We have an appointment...,” Duncan began, and then broke off. “No one called you and set up an appointment?” he asked ruefully.

“No, no one did. In fact, if it wasn’t Sunday, I wouldn’t even be at home this time of day. What is it you wanted to see me about?” Giles asked, tilting his head in inquiry.

“We were hoping that you could give us a moment of your time. We have some questions that we think you might be able to answer for us.”

“And the subject matter of these questions would be?” Giles queried suspiciously. These two men made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They looked human, but any number of demons could take human form. And they were both wearing long, heavy coats on a relatively warm day for Sunnydale.

The brawny man standing in front of him hesitated, as if he didn’t want to speak the words aloud. He glanced at his associate, and turned back to Giles with a renewed determination.

“Demons,” he said firmly, almost gruffly.

“Ah,” Giles replied with a slight frown. “Well, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place, I don’t...”

“Does the name ‘Ahriman’ mean anything to you?” Methos asked, and watched the other man closely for his reaction.

Giles felt as if the floor had moved beneath his feet, and knew that his shock at hearing that name would most certainly be mirrored in his face. Ahriman. The millennium demon. He remembered reading about it, and the Champion who would defeat it.

“Ahriman,” he repeated the name slowly, trying to buy enough time to decide what to do about these two men. He looked from one to the other. They looked young, but their eyes told a different story. They reflected untold years of experience, and not all of them pleasant.

“What is your interest in Ahriman?” Giles asked. He needed more information before he divulged anything more than what they might have seen on his face.

“Nothing. Anymore,” Duncan replied brusquely, and then fell eerily silent as he remembered the days spent under Ahriman’s influence. Days haunted by James Horton, and Kronos. Even after a year studying and meditating with the monks at the monastery in Malaysia, it had been difficult to face and defeat the demon. He wasn’t interested in Ahriman per se. He wanted - needed - to learn more about demons so he could figure out how to live with what he had done while Ahriman held sway over his mind.

“We have had the dubious pleasure of meeting Ahriman,” Methos added, as he moved closer to the open door. He could see that Duncan was in no shape to continue the conversation. “We need some information from you.”

“You survived an encounter with Ahriman?” Giles asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Duncan replied, with a humorless curve of his lips, his eyes rising slowly to meet Giles’. “Survived. That’s one way of putting it.” He had survived, but Richie hadn’t. Under Ahriman’s influence, he had killed his student - a young man he loved like a son.

“Mac...Mr. MacLeod banished Ahriman over two years ago...,” Methos began.

Giles staggered and reached out to the doorframe for support. He closed his eyes, and then opened them to look at the two men standing on his doorstep, the sun shimmering off their dark heads giving them an otherworldly glow. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, before replacing them and taking a deep breath.

“You’re Immortals?” he asked, surprised that his voice didn’t shake. “And you...you’re the Champion?” He looked at Duncan MacLeod, studying him as if he might be able to *see* the truth.

“You know about Immortals and the Champion?” Duncan asked in surprise. This was a turn of events they hadn’t considered. Of course, if Rupert Giles knew about demons, why wouldn’t he have come across some information about Immortals at one time or another? Many people, including his father, Ian MacLeod, chieftain of the Clan MacLeod, had considered him - them - demons because they couldn’t be killed.

‘Bloody hell!’ Methos thought, looking around them nervously. Immortals, especially Methos, were always wary about revealing their identity. To Immortals or mortals. That was especially true after their experience with the Hunters, led by a former Watcher, James Horton; mortals who considered Immortals to be abominations, and who were responsible for the death of Darius, an Immortal priest, on holy ground.

“I’ve read the prophecy,” Giles replied to Duncan’s question, his voice a little breathless. “A Highland Child, born on the Winter Solstice, who has seen both Darkness and Light...”

“Well, that’s wonderful, but we don’t usually advertise ourselves,” Methos interrupted tersely. “Any way we could take this inside?” he asked, straightening his shoulders, and suddenly looking more imposing than he had half a second ago.

“Certainly. If you can,” Giles replied and stood back, gripping the door for support and indicating that they should enter, without actually issuing an invitation for them to do so.

Both men crossed the threshold while Giles watched them closely. When they were both standing in his apartment, their combined presence making it seem awfully small, he closed the door behind them.

“What was that all about?” Duncan asked, as he surveyed the apartment. He was standing in a small dining area, and beyond that was the living room. To his right was a small kitchen area and a hallway, to his left, stairs that led to a loft. The apartment was cozy. The living room contained a small fireplace, a couch and several chairs, and bookshelves. Lots and lots of bookshelves.

“Some demons, vampires, for example, can’t enter a home without an invitation,” Giles explained. “May I get either of you anything to drink? Tea?”

“Do you have anything stronger?” Methos asked, wandering around the apartment. After all, the man had just confirmed the existence of demons, not to mention his knowledge of Immortals, and rehashing Ahriman was going to require some liquid courage. He briefly wondered if they could trust him with their secret, and if not, what then?

A book lay on the end table, and Methos turned it with long, slender fingers, so he could read the title; ‘Portals and Dimensional Travel.’ His hand shook a bit as he removed it from the book. Well, that was unsettling. Okay, he’d been willing to believe in demons because he’d ‘seen’ one, but dimensional travel? That was a bit much, even for a 5000 year old Immortal. Maybe this guy was just a kook after all.

“Tea will be fine,” Duncan replied evenly, wondering how he was even still standing. This man had not only corroborated that demons actually existed, he knew about Ahriman specifically, and had looked surprised - no, shocked - to hear the name. And he knew about Immortals. Of course, other mortals knew about his immortality, like Joe and Anne. Like Tessa had. But their numbers were few, and they were lovers, or friends. This man was a complete stranger, and now he knew their most private secret.

Methos rolled his eyes at the younger Immortal’s gentility. “Fine,” he agreed, really wishing for a beer, or something stronger. “Tea it is.” He glanced at Duncan, who looked like he was ready to fall over.

“Please, have a seat while I put the kettle on,” Giles offered, and turned towards his small kitchen. He filled the teakettle and put it on to boil, scooped tea into the tea ball and placed it in the teapot, then set it and three mugs on a tray. These men didn’t look like the teacup and saucer types. He added cream, sugar, lemon slices, and three spoons to the tray, and then returned to the living room.

Duncan MacLeod had sunk into the leather chair in the corner, his long coat thrown across the stool in front of him, while Adam Pierson continued to prowl the room like a restless cat; his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Your accent...British?” Giles asked Methos curiously.

Methos turned his head toward the Watcher. “A little bit of everything, really,” he hedged, allowing himself a small smile. “Though I have spent a lot of time in Britain.”

“Ah, of course,” Giles nodded. “And you?” He turned to Duncan. “Scotland?”

“Aye,” Duncan replied politely.

“Highland child,” Giles whispered in wonder, and shook his head to clear it. “Why are you looking for information on demons?” he asked. “I mean, you’ve defeated Ahriman; your battle is over. Is it not?”

“I need...to understand.” The broad-shouldered man leaned forward in the chair, placed his elbows on his knees, and rested his chin on his joined hands.

“Mr. MacLeod...”

“Just MacLeod, please. Or Mac,” he said, raising his head, and then indicated the smaller man. “Adam.”

“All right.” Giles nodded. “Uh, MacLeod, you may both call me Giles, or Rupert if you prefer.” Giles took a deep breath. “What, exactly, is it that you are looking to understand?” he asked.

Duncan was silent for a moment as he tried to find the words to convey what he wanted - needed. Giles glanced over at Adam, but he was staring at MacLeod’s bowed head. His face was a practiced blank mask, but he couldn’t hide the concern for his friend that filled his eyes.

“Why,” Duncan finally spoke again, his voice flat and even, afraid to betray too much of himself to this stranger. “Why they exist. Why I was chosen. Why I’m alive and Richie’s dead. Why?” He looked at Giles, and the Watcher saw more sorrow in those brown eyes than he hoped to ever see again.

“Who is Richie?” Giles asked, and watched Duncan’s eyes fill with pain and sorrow - and guilt.

“Richie was a friend,” Methos answered quickly so Duncan wouldn’t have to, but his voice remained soft. “He was killed by Ahriman.”

Duncan made a move as if to dispute Methos’ statement, but Methos placed his hand on Duncan’s shoulder and squeezed gently, offering support - and the acceptance Duncan couldn’t find in his own heart to give himself.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Giles said, knowing first-hand the pain of losing friends, loved ones, in the battle against demons. “I don’t know if I can answer those questions for you, but I *can* tell you a little bit about demons. Let me just get the tea,” Giles said, when he was interrupted by the whistle of the teakettle.

He walked stiffly to the kitchen, his body almost as numb as his mind. These men were Immortals. Immortals were sitting in his living room. He had heard rumors of such a race of humans existing, but he had never been sure. He poured the water into the teapot and carried the tray into the living room, carefully set the tray on the coffee table, and lowered himself onto the couch.

“Well, too bad Buffy’s not here.” Giles gave a wry smile as the thought of giving his patented ‘speech’ reminded him of her irreverence - what were her exact words again? Oh, yes, ‘blah, blah, blah’. “She so loves to hear my speech.”

“Buffy,” Methos repeated the name. “She’s the Slayer, correct?” he asked, as he lounged back against the bookshelf, hands still tucked casually in his pockets. Giles froze. He should have realized that if these men knew where to find him, they might know about Buffy, but he was suddenly struck by how little he knew about them. He had only the words they told him to explain their presence here.

“What do you know about the Slayer?” he asked, his voice suddenly frigid, his protective instincts for his Slayer roused.

“One girl in all the world, Chosen One, yadda, yadda, yadda,” Methos replied, ignoring the other man’s frosty tone. “Just enough for us to find you, really. She wasn’t our main focus. Finding someone who could tell us about demons, was.”

“Yes, well, how is it, exactly, that you did find me?” Giles asked the question he had been too overwhelmed to consider before.

“Luck, mostly,” Methos replied. “And lots and lots of cash. Once we discovered the existence of the Watcher’s Council, it wasn’t difficult to determine who the current Slayer and her Watcher were, and where they were located.”

“Right,” Giles replied, unconvinced, eyes narrowed. “I’ve only just realized that I only have your word as to who you both are...”

“Technically, you don’t even have that,” Methos corrected. “We never told you we were Immortals, you guessed. And I don’t believe we confirmed...exactly.” He loved verbal sparring. It was much more fun with MacLeod, but this fellow put forth an admirable effort.

“Ah, yes, thank you for that little reminder. Well, perhaps now would be a good time for confirmation,” Giles suggested. It might be a little late for that, but it would put his mind at ease to know that these men were who they said they were.

Giles startled at the sudden appearance of a dagger in Methos’ hand. Without comment, Methos sliced his palm.

“Oh, good lord!” Giles cried. He stood and ran for the first aid kit which was kept with the weapons trunk. He pulled a clean rag out and moved to Methos’ side, attempting to wrap his hand with the cloth.

“Just watch,” Methos instructed, pulling his hand out of Giles’ grip. Giles watched in stunned fascination as, with a little flash of energy, sliced muscle and skin pulled together and the wound healed.

“Oh...my,” he breathed, and then wiped the blood off of Methos’ hand, revealing a palm that showed no indication of the cut.

“The ability to heal quickly is one of the benefits of immortality.” Methos took the cloth out of Giles’ hand and cleaned his own more thoroughly, then wiped the dagger blade and sheathed it. “May I use your bathroom to wash my hands?” he asked.

“Yes, of course!” Giles replied, absently pointing towards the hallway, and then silently watched Methos’ back as he moved across the living room and down the hall to the bathroom. Giles walked over to the couch as if in a daze. Immortals. It really was just...fascinating. He lowered himself to the couch and chanced a glance at Duncan.

“Are you all right?” the Immortal asked in concern.

“Yes, I believe so,” Giles replied. “That was...fascinating,” he spoke his earlier thought aloud. “What other benefits are there to immortality?” he asked, intrigued.

“The not dying,” Methos responded dryly, as he reentered the living room.

“Yes,” Giles nearly rolled his eyes. “That’s one I wouldn’t have thought of. All right then, back to the matter at hand. Since you already seem to know about us, I don’t see the harm in verifying your information. Yes, Buffy is the Slayer and I am her Watcher. Now, as for demons,” he briskly changed the subject. “This world is older than you know, and contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin as a paradise. For untold eons, demons walked the Earth, made it their home, their Hell. In time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals. For man. What remains of the old ones are vestiges: certain magics, certain creatures...”

“Including vampires?” Methos asked skeptically, eyes widening in disbelief. He knew they’d come to see Rupert Giles to learn about demons, but the fact that he could so calmly explain their existence was a bit disconcerting.

“Yes, including vampires. The books tell that the last demon to leave this reality fed off a human; mixed their blood. He was a human form possessed - infected - by the demon's soul. He bit another, and another...and so they walk the Earth, feeding. Killing some, mixing their blood with others to make more of their kind. There are many other types of demons, of course.” He waved his hand at his crowded bookshelves. “Hundreds, thousands; some benign, but most evil. All waiting for the animals to die out, and the Old Ones to return. Some more impatiently than others, which is why we are here, guarding the Hellmouth.”

“Yes, the Hellmouth. Is that...what it sounds like?” Methos asked with a glance at Duncan, who was sitting unmoving in the chair, his hands hanging down between his knees, seemingly lost in thought.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Giles replied, as he poured the tea. “This town sits on the mouth of Hell. The Spanish called the town Boca del Infierno. It’s a hotbed of demon activity. The Hellmouth is currently inactive, but there have been several attempts to open it, and bring about hell on earth.”

“So Ahriman was just one of many demons that wish to bring chaos and death to the world then?” Duncan finally spoke. Though he had expected to learn more about demons, he hadn’t anticipated that Ahriman would be one of so many. It made his pain seem so...common, so trivial.

“Yes,” Giles replied with a nod. “The scotch is up there if you’d like to doctor your tea,” Giles told Methos, as the other man reached for one of the mugs, intent on shoving it into MacLeod’s hands. He followed Giles’ pointing finger and got the scotch down from the top of the bookshelf, opened it, and poured a generous dollop into one of the mugs.

He was worried for his friend. Though he had defeated Ahriman and moved on with his life, Methos knew how much Richie’s death still haunted Duncan. He handed the mug to the younger Immortal who, despite his bulk, looked like a stiff wind could knock him over.

“Though a particularly nasty one,” Giles continued, as he slid a second mug towards Methos. “I read about him early on in my Watcher studies. He was thought to be a myth. Not because we didn’t believe in demons, because the Council knows demons have been around for centuries, millennia, but because we’ve never been able to prove the existence of the Champion. An Immortal.”

“Your Slayer, she’s not Immortal?” Duncan asked with a little bit of surprise, as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug. He hadn’t sensed her; but found it odd that the Chosen One would be mortal...fragile.

“No.” Giles shook his head sadly before taking a sip of the strong tea. “Buffy has been the Slayer for over four years now. She has lived longer than most Slayers do. They usually only last two or three years before they are killed, and another Slayer is called.”

“Two or three *years*?” Methos asked in amazement, and he was not easily astounded. For a man who had lived for over 5000 years, dying so young was inconceivable.

“Yes,” Giles confirmed shortly, and took another bracing sip of tea. Thinking about Buffy’s potential death always shook him.

“What’s different with this Slayer?” Duncan asked, and Methos turned his head to look at the other man, his eyes narrowed in speculation, as he wondered why Duncan was showing such an interest in the Slayer, when he’d come here to learn about demons.

“I believe that it’s due in part to her support system,” Giles replied contemplatively.

“Support system?” Duncan asked, taking a sip of the heavily fortified tea.

“Most Slayers-in-Training are removed from their family and friends at a very early age, and brought up by their Watcher, training and researching most of their lives, readying themselves to become the next Slayer, should they be called,” Giles explained. “They lead a solitary, lonely existence, able to rely only on themselves and their Watcher; for backup, for comfort, their duties and position kept secret from the world. Buffy wasn’t...found...by the Council until she was called. She has family and friends around her to not only offer moral support, but to help her with the research and her slaying duties. They’ve given her a reason to keep living; to not give in to the darkness that many Slayers face,” he concluded.

Just then the front door to the apartment slammed open, and both Immortals looked up, startled. Giles, used to being invaded night or day, remained unphased by the sudden entrance.

“Hey, Giles,” the young blonde woman they’d watched fight the night before called out, as she breezed into the apartment. “Got a sitch...Whoa!” She came up short as she caught sight of Methos and Duncan. “Who’re the hotties?”

Both men relaxed their defensive posture. Methos found himself grinning as Duncan shifted uncomfortably under the Slayer’s, Buffy’s, frankly approving appraisal.

“Buffy!” Giles put his tea down and stood, then walked over to his Slayer. “What are you doing here?” he asked, checking his watch. “Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

“Very funny,” she said, and then stammered, “Uh, well...” She didn’t want to blurt anything out in front of Giles’ guests. “Something happened last night on the, uh, way to The Bronze that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Giles asked, suddenly all business. Buffy jerked her head towards the two men in the corner, and Giles turned to see what she was getting at. “Oh!” he nodded, as the lightbulb finally went on. “They’re aware of the existence of demons and, well, also who you and I are, so you may speak freely in front of them,” he assured her.

“Oh, okay.” She shrugged easily, as she slipped out of her jacket. “Research,” she continued casually. “We ran into some vamps last night. One of them said something about their boss trying to open the Hellmouth. Again.”

“Oh...bloody brilliant!” Methos muttered with a disgusted roll of his eyes.

Chapter Three

“You found this out last night, and you’re only just now telling me?” Giles asked his Slayer, wondering what he’d done to deserve this. Oh, never mind; he remembered.

“No hurry,” she replied casually. Methos thought she sounded awfully blase about someone, or something, wanting to open the mouth of Hell.

“Now that we’ve gotten the information we needed, maybe we should get out of here,” he suggested to Duncan in a whisper. Duncan didn’t respond; too absorbed in the conversation between Giles and Buffy.

“And that would be why?” Giles asked, peering at her over the rim of his glasses, his left eyebrow arching, a hint of sarcasm coloring his tone.

Buffy blithely ignored the sarcasm. “He said his boss isn’t even in town yet, and the ritual’s not taking place until Wednesday night at midnight,” she explained.

Wednesday at midnight? “MacLeod!” Methos hissed, trying to get his friend’s attention.

“You got all *that* out of a vampire before you staked him?” Giles asked, a mite suspiciously.

“Well, not exactly,” Buffy admitted. “I let them surround me, and then I whimpered a little bit, and the idiot couldn’t keep from gloating. Then I staked him.”

“Wonderful,” Giles said sarcastically. “Now if only he’d given you the name of the ritual so we knew how to prevent it.”

“Oh, yeah, he said something about the House of Pancakes,” Buffy called, as she strode to the kitchen to get a soda out of the refrigerator.

Giles’ brow furrowed in concentration as he thought about that, and then his visage brightened. “The Host of Pan’kr?” he asked excitedly, shaking his head. It was a sad state of affairs when he could actually understand what she meant with such relative ease.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Buffy said, as she reappeared in the doorway and opened the can of soda. “Now, about the hotties.” She inclined her head towards the two men in the corner.

“Oh, dear lord!” Giles exclaimed, as he scurried over to his bookshelves. “I do wish Willow was here. I don’t think I have any books on the Pan’kr here,” he muttered, as he examined the books on the shelves. “Drat! They’re all at the magic shop. Hmm, although this one might have some relevant information.” He picked a book off the shelf and opened it, losing himself in the text.

“Hi, I’m Buffy,” Buffy said, when it became obvious that Giles wasn’t going to introduce them.

“Oh, sorry.” Giles raised his head. “Dr. Adam Pierson,” he said, pointing with the book he held, “Duncan MacLeod, Buffy Summers.” Giles stuck his head back in his book.

“Hello, Buffy,” Duncan said with a smile that made Buffy’s knees melt, as he stood and held out his hand. “You can call me Mac. And this is Adam.”

“Mac, Adam,” Buffy said, taking Duncan’s hand as a light blush suffused her skin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Methos was about to reply when the door swung open for the second time that evening. Both Immortals once again jumped, startled, before recognizing the blond who entered from the fight they’d witnessed the night before. Spike, his leather duster swirling around his legs, was followed closely by Willow. He was carrying a case of soda that he’d taken from her when he found her lugging it in from the moron’s car.

He stopped as soon as he caught scent of the two men in the corner. Willow ran into his back and Spike automatically reached behind him to steady her, his arm going around her waist protectively.

“Who’re they?” he growled. Willow took the opportunity to press herself against his back and peek around him, her cheek laying on his leather-clad biceps.

Giles looked up. “Spike! Has the sun gone down already? Oh, these are, uh, some colleagues of mine. Here to do some, uh, demon research.”

“Is that right?” Spike drawled, unconvinced, as he studied the two men in the corner. They smelled human, but not. And they didn’t look like researchers. In fact, their stance indicated that they were warriors.

The awkward moment was lost, as Xander and Anya appeared in the open doorway carrying three pizza boxes. “Dinner’s served,” Xander announced to the room.

They set the pizza on the table, and Spike continued to the kitchen with a shake of his head, finding room for the soda in the refrigerator.

“Ah, pizza. Again,” Giles grumbled from his position beside one of the many bookshelves in the apartment. “Wonderful.”

“Hey, Will, check out the hotties in the corner,” Buffy whispered to her friend, as Willow took off her jacket and hung it up. Willow glanced over at the two men, and then thought about Spike and blushed. “Let me introduce you.” Buffy grabbed her hand and dragged her into the living room.

“Giles isn’t doing the host thing very well,” Buffy said to the two men. “So let me introduce you to everyone. This is Willow, that’s Xander, Anya, and,” she hesitated just long enough for Willow to poke her, and then continued with a grin, “that’s Spike in the kitchen. Guys, this is Dr. Adam Pierson and Duncan MacLeod. Adam and Mac.”

“Hi,” everyone, except Spike, chorused; Xander mumbling his greeting around the bite of pizza already in his mouth.

“Mmm, more hunky man meat,” Anya commented softly to Buffy and Willow, as they gathered around the table to dish out the pizza.

“Anya!” Willow blushed again.

“I know!” Buffy crowed. “Aren’t they hot?”

“Xander,” Giles said, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen without lifting his head from the book. “There are plates and napkins in the kitchen.”

“Sure thing, G-man,” Xander said, as he headed to the kitchen to get them. Giles did raise his head at the hated moniker, shook it, and turned back to his reading.

Spike returned to the dining room with a mug of warm blood in one hand, and several sodas cradled in his other arm. He set the blood down on the table, and Willow took the sodas out of his arm. He shrugged out of his duster and threw it towards the coat rack, where it hit the wall, and fell to the floor.

“Spike,” Willow chastised him, and made a move to go pick his coat up.

“Leave it.” He pushed her into a chair and grabbed a paper plate out of Xander’s hand. He put two pieces of pizza on it and placed it before Willow. “Eat,” he commanded.

“You aren’t the boss of me,” Willow muttered, as she picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite. Spike sat down beside her and grabbed a breadstick out of the box, sniffing it cautiously.

“It’s garlic-free, fangless,” Xander assured him.

“Just checking,” Spike replied. “Not like I trust you, or anything.” He dunked the breadstick in his blood and took a bite.

“Eww!” Xander complained.

“Shut up, git,” Spike replied automatically.

Methos handed Duncan his coat, pulled the stool around to the side of the chair, and sank down onto it. He watched the group of people gathered around the table eating their pizza and breadsticks, seemingly oblivious to the end of the world that was going to happen on Wednesday. This was...pandemonium. How in the world did they ever get anything done? He found it difficult to believe that this group of people, young people, saved the world on a regular basis.

“Mac.” He turned his attention back to his friend. “I really think we should leave.”

“No, I want to stay. I want to watch this. Besides, if it actually happens, if the demons open the Hellmouth, you think we’ll be any safer in Seacouver?” Duncan replied, a look of deep concentration on his face.

“Well, probably not,” Methos considered. “But Paris, maybe.”

When he realized that Duncan was serious, Methos leaned forward and snagged the bottle of scotch, filling his mug halfway with the amber liquid. He rearranged his sword and leaned back against the bookshelf, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle, and settled in to watch.

“Uh, would you guys like any pizza?” Willow asked politely, suddenly remembering that they had guests. “We have plenty.”

Methos opened his mouth to reply with a scathing ‘no’, but Duncan beat him to it. “Yes, I think I would,” the Highlander responded, and stood to walk towards the table where the others were sitting. “Thank you.”

“Bring me a piece,” Methos called. “And a breadstick.”

***

After everyone was finished eating, the table was quickly cleared. Willow was typing at her laptop, researching the Host of Pan’kr, while Giles sat at the head of the table reading from the book he’d taken from the bookshelf.

Buffy looked around the table, bored. “Giles, if you don’t have anything for me to do, maybe I’ll just go patrol.”

“All right, Buffy,” he replied distractedly. “Call me if you find out anything.”

“‘Kay,” she stood. “Coming Spike?”

“Sure thing, Slayer,” Spike said, and then leaned over to Willow and whispered, “You don’t go anywhere until I get here to walk you home.”

Willow turned narrowed eyes on him, but before she could reply, he grabbed her leg under the table and gave a gentle squeeze. “I mean it!”

He stood up and grabbed his duster off the floor, swinging it over his shoulders as he walked to the weapons trunk. He chose his favorite axe, and then checked his pockets to make sure he had his stakes and smokes before they left.

“Uh, G-man, what about us?” Xander asked.

“Why don’t you two head on home,” Giles replied, looking up and saving his place with a finger. “I’m sure I have more books at the magic shop, so when we meet there tomorrow, we should have more resources.”

“Great!” Xander replied, helping Anya into her jacket before Giles was even done speaking. “Night, Wills, G-man. Uh, Adam, Mac.” He turned back to his friends, “See you guys tomorrow,” he said, and then he and Anya left.

“Maybe we should get going, too,” Methos suggested to Duncan. “It’s not like we’re actually helping, or anything.”

“You’re right,” Duncan agreed, and stood. He walked over to Giles, leaving his coat behind on the chair. “Is there anything we can do to help?” he asked earnestly.

Methos sighed deeply, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. He should have known. Him and his big mouth. Bloody boy scout.

“Uh, no, not without additional reference material, which I don’t have available here. But we will be getting together tomorrow evening at the Magic Box, a shop I own in town, if you’d like to join us. We can use all the help we can get for research,” Giles admitted.

“We’ll be there. Adam’s an old hand at research,” Duncan said. “Where is the shop located?”

“Main Street. The others will start showing up before sundown. After work and classes,” Giles added. “You can come then, or...earlier, if you like. Best to not be out after dark, if you can help it.”

Willow silently watched their exchange while her computer was running another search. Spike had seemed suspicious of these two men, but Giles seemed to trust them. They hadn’t said enough yet for her to make up her mind.

She watched Mac walk back over to the corner where his friend, Adam, had stood and was waiting for him. Mac took his coat out of Adam’s hand and put it on. Something about the way it swung around his shoulders looked off. Spike’s duster didn’t swing like that. Not that she spent any time looking at how Spike’s duster *did* swing. She turned her attention back to the screen when the computer beeped.

***

“I can’t *believe* you!” Methos groused, as they walked down the street. “Oh, what am I saying? Of *course* I believe you did that. Bloody boy scout.” He repeated the charge out loud, just because it felt good to say it.

“We came here to find out about demons,” Duncan replied calmly, ignoring the older man’s outburst.

“And we did. They exist. What else do you need to *know*, MacLeod?” Methos asked.

“Why,” Duncan replied with finality, and then remained silent, despite Methos’ attempts to draw him out, or annoy him enough to get a response. They were almost to their hotel when they were stopped by a young couple.

“Hey, you guys wanna party?” the girl asked.

“No, thank you.” Duncan grimaced at the interruption, though his tone was polite. He just wanted to get back to the hotel where he could digest all of the information they’d received today.

“Oh, come on!” the girl said, as her face morphed into that of the demon. “We do!”

The two vampires attacked. Duncan responded to the danger immediately, easily ducking the charge and tossing one vampire over his head. Methos went down hard on the sidewalk under the sudden and unexpected attack, just as he managed to pull his sword free from the sheath hidden inside the lining of his coat.

Duncan pulled his own sword and stabbed the vampire attacking Methos through its heart from the back. “Through the heart, right?” he asked worriedly, as he turned to hold off the male vampire. Seeing that vampire take Methos down had scared him.

“What?” Methos asked distractedly, as he rolled the female vampire off him and stood, checking himself over for damage.

“Last night, didn’t she stab them in the heart?” Duncan clarified, as he slashed at the determined vampire.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” Methos replied absently. “Looks like it works, anyway, but she didn’t, uh, turn to a cloud of dust like the ones last night.”

Duncan and Methos made short work of the unarmed vampire and he soon joined the female on the pavement at their feet.

“What do we do with them?” Duncan asked in confusion, as they both stared at the bodies.

“I don’t know!” Methos replied. “Do I look like I know everything?”

“No,” Duncan shrugged, as he studied his friend. “But you usually act like it.”

“Very amusing, MacLeod,” Methos snorted, and Duncan allowed himself a small smile. “I say we just leave them, maybe drag them into that alley and...whoa!” Methos jumped in surprise when he looked down at the female vampire’s open amber eyes.

“That hurt!” she said, as she jumped to her feet and charged Duncan.

“Mac!” Methos yelled a warning, and Duncan instinctively swung his sword. The vampire’s head disconnected from her body and she dissolved in a cloud of dust.

“Looks like beheading does the job,” Methos said with a shrug, and decapitated the male vampire where it lay with one swing of his sword, careful not to hit the sidewalk too hard and damage his sword, watching it turn to dust. “You know, maybe we should have thought to ask the Watcher about this while we were there.”

Chapter Four

When they got back to their hotel room, Methos took his coat off and tossed it towards a chair. It missed, and hit the floor with a dull ‘clang’, which he ignored as he went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a beer. He removed the top, looked for someplace to toss it, and then opted for the trash can before tipping his head back and taking a long, welcome draught of the cool liquid.

“All right,” he said, when he lowered the bottle and turned to face Duncan. “What was that all about?”

“What was ‘what’ all about?” Duncan asked innocently, hoping to avoid a confrontation. He had carefully hung his coat up and was sitting on one of the double beds, untying his shoelaces.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Methos ground out. “We came here to get information on demons. We got information on demons. Now we should be leaving. But you can’t resist taking on another cause,” he threw himself onto one end of the couch and sprawled out in a boneless heap.

Duncan sighed deeply. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to avoid having this discussion with Methos, though he figured it was worth a try. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you again, Methos, or is that I’ve lived down to your expectations once more...”

“Oh, knock it off, Mac,” Methos motioned with his beer. “If anyone is disappointed in the other, it’s the other way around. Besides, this is not about disappointing me. This is about you looking for something you’re never going to find.”

“And what is it you think I’m looking for?” Duncan challenged, as he dropped one shoe on the floor beside the bed.

“Forgiveness,” Methos said, and then tipped the bottle to his lips and emptied it. Duncan paled and Methos rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Not *my* forgiveness,” he said. “And not Joe’s. If it was my place to absolve you of all guilt, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but it’s not my place to judge you.”

“Then whose place is it?” Duncan asked. This was not the first time the question had been raised between them. There was a long silence as both men contemplated forgiveness, and judgments, and things they might do differently if given the opportunity. In 5000 years, Methos had accumulated quite a list, though being Death, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, was certainly near the top of that list. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, in his 400 years, had nothing on Methos.

“You’re right,” Duncan finally said. He looked at the shoe he held in his hand, and tossed it to the floor.

“Of course I’m right.” Methos shrugged, with a wry grin. “So tell me again why you’re doing this?”

“I need answers, Methos.” Duncan frowned and wrung his hands. “Because knowing that they exist isn’t enough. We knew that before we got here. I need...more than that,” he finished, unable to articulate exactly what he needed. He’d told Giles that he needed to know why - why they exist, why he was chosen, why he was alive and Richie was dead. But mostly he wanted to know why he hadn’t been able to defeat the demon before he killed Richie. And at the same time, didn’t want to find out that he could have, should have, been able to do so. That Richie should still be alive.

Methos set his empty beer bottle on the end table and walked over to the bed where Duncan was sitting. He knelt before his friend and placed his fisted hands on the other man’s knees. “I know you need closure, Mac, but the only one who blames you for Richie’s death, is you. You hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else, Highlander. As much as you wish it, and as much as we often delude ourselves into believing it to be so, you aren’t perfect. None of us is.”

“Thank you, Methos.” Duncan touched the older man’s face lightly with his fingertips, as he looked down into intent hazel eyes. “That was a lovely pep talk.” He mussed the older man’s hair as he spoke, trying to lighten the suddenly too-somber mood.

“Hey, knock it off!” Methos pulled away from Duncan’s hand and rose to his feet, brushing his hand through his hair to smooth it. “And it wasn’t a pep talk, MacLeod. It’s the truth.” Methos pointed one slender finger at Duncan.

“As you see it,” Duncan replied with a raised eyebrow.

“And how do you see it?” Methos challenged, sitting on the bed across from Duncan, and leaning forward onto his knees.

Duncan looked away from Methos, unable to face him and say the things he felt. “I’ll never be able to forgive myself for killing Richie,” he said sadly. “And I know you think forgiveness isn’t the answer, but I don’t know how to accept it. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t...*do* something.” He turned back to Methos, desperate for him to understand. “I don’t know if learning more about demons is the answer, but I see these people...God, Methos, they’re just kids!” He raised one hand in emphasis. “And they fight demons like Ahriman everyday!”

“Not *just* like Ahriman,” Methos reminded him. “He was the baddest of the bad.”

“Still,” Duncan continued, brushing off the distinction, “they’re making a difference. And I’m feeling a little humbled here. We fight each other because we have to, to stay alive. And some because they enjoy it.” He thought about the Immortals who hunted other Immortals for their Quickenings. “But these...kids...they fight because it’s the right thing to do.”

Methos rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to make a scathing comment about do-gooders, but Duncan anticipated him, and spoke before he could get a word out. “How old do you think the Slayer, Buffy, is?”

“I don’t know,” Methos shrugged. “Nineteen, twenty?”

“And according to Giles, she should already be dead. I think I can learn something from them. I’d like to help them with their research and the battle against whoever, or whatever, is going to try to open the Hellmouth. And besides...” It was Duncan’s turn to shrug. “...if they lose, and the Hellmouth is opened and hell *is* brought to Earth, there is nowhere we’d be safe. I can’t walk away from this. But I can’t ask you to stay...”

“Oh, stow it, MacLeod.” Methos stood and casually walked back over to retrieve his beer. He looked at the empty bottle as if it had betrayed him, tossed it into the trash can and pulled a fresh one out of the fridge. “What happened to ‘Adam’s an old hand at research’, hmm?” he asked sarcastically, as he pulled the bottle top off and flung it at Duncan with a carefully honed twist of his wrist.

Duncan expertly dodged the flying cap. “Well,” he said, shrugging and smiling sheepishly. “You still don’t *have* to stay.”

***

“Where’s Red?” Spike asked, as he came through the door of the Watcher’s apartment. Her book bag was on the table, and he could scent her, but he couldn’t see her.

“Huh, what?” Willow sat up on the couch. “I’m here!”

Spike thought his heart would melt as he watched her rub her eyes with the heels of her hands and try to straighten her hair. He grabbed her jacket off the peg and carried it over to her.

“Here,” he said gruffly, as he knelt before her. “Put this on.” He held the jacket for her as Willow slipped her arms through the sleeves. “Boots.” He tapped her foot so she would lift it.

“I can...”

“Just do it,” he replied, and Willow obediently lifted her foot. ‘She must be really tired,’ Spike thought absently, as he slipped her boot on and zipped it, then tapped her other foot. When he was done, he rose, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet.

Willow followed Spike to the table, too tired to argue with him any more this night. She’d argue with him extra tomorrow, she promised herself. He grabbed her book bag off the table and led her to the door.

“‘Night, Watcher,” he called, as he pushed Willow out the door and into the courtyard.

“Oh, ‘night, Giles,” Willow called back belatedly, not having even realized that Giles was still up. All of her attention had been focused on Spike.

“Goodnight, Spike, Willow,” Giles said, following them to the door.

“I can carry my book bag,” Willow said, reaching for the bag.

“No. You just worry about walking,” Spike said, realizing that she was too tired to walk and carry the book bag. He did want to get her home before the sun rose.

“I can too...oh!” she cried, as she tripped over the first step.

Spike shook his head, swung her book bag over his shoulder, and then lifted Willow into his arms.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“Obviously not,” Spike replied, carrying her up the steps.

Giles shook his head and closed the door behind them as their bickering faded into the night.

“Spike! Put me down!” Willow insisted.

“No,” Spike said. “Get comfortable.” There was no way he was putting her down now, she felt too good in his arms, all warm and soft.

“You...big...dummy!” she said, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and settled her head on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. She might as well take advantage of the situation. Probably the only time she’d be this close to him.

He smelled like the leather she had her cheek resting against, and she wondered what he would taste like. Would he even notice if she kissed his neck? Probably not. And if he did, he’d think she was sleeping.

Willow shifted in his arms as if she was getting more comfortable, and brought her mouth closer to his neck until her lips were pressing against the soft skin there. Slowly, she stuck her tongue out and touched his neck, tasting him.

Spike jolted. Did the little chit just lick him? No! No bloody way she’d be caught dead in his arms if she wasn’t so tired; she certainly wouldn’t touch him with her warm, wet tongue. Would she? He tightened his grip on her, feeling her breasts crushed against his chest. He barely held back the moan as her fingers tangled in the hair at his neck.

‘Probably dreaming about dogboy,’ he snorted to himself.

***

The next afternoon, Duncan and Methos stopped by the Magic Box to check it out before everyone else was scheduled to arrive. They also hoped to get some more information out of Giles. Like how to kill vampires.

The bell rang when the door opened and Anya chirped, “Hello, welcome to the Magic Box... Oh, it’s you. Are you going to buy anything?”

Duncan looked at her in bemusement. She hadn’t spoken much the evening before and he was slightly surprised to see her here.

Methos broke the silence. “Do you have any love potions?”

Anya wrinkled her nose. “Love potions can be very tricky, you know. You shouldn’t... Oh, you were just joking, weren’t you?”

Duncan gave her an apologetic smile. “We’re here to see Mr. Giles,” he said.

“He’s in the back. Just a minute.” Anya turned away from them and yelled, “Giles!”

“Yes, Anya, what is...oh!” Giles sounded annoyed as he appeared from behind the beaded curtain to the backroom, until he realized why Anya had interrupted him. “I’m in the middle of inventory right now...” His tone turned apologetic.

“That’s alright,” Duncan assured him. “We were just checking out the lay of the town...in the daylight, and thought we’d check out your shop. Nothing else to do.”

“I thought you were here to research demons?” Anya said.

“Except, of course, to stop in here and do some research,” Duncan continued, almost seamlessly, with a nod to Anya. “On demons.”

“Do you think all demons are bad?” Anya asked.

“Excuse me?” Methos asked, startled out of his appreciation of Duncan’s quick thinking by the odd question.

“Demons. Do you think they’re all bad, or do some have the capacity for rehabilitation? You know, to become productive members of society. And the workforce,” Anya expanded her question.

“Ahh, well,” Duncan floundered, “we’ve only actually, uh...”

“Anya,” Giles said. “Why don’t you go do the inventory?” He handed her the clipboard and physically ushered her into the back room despite her protests that she had to keep an eye on the money.

“Sorry,” he said to the two men when he returned. “She has some, uh, issues.”

“That’s a bloody understatement,” came a voice from halfway down the shop. “This translation is driving me bleedin’ nuts. Why couldn’t those wankers have included the soddin’ translation in the bloody book?” Spike asked, as he stood and moved around the table he was sitting at and into the aisle. “I need some blood...er, bloody...tea.” He headed for the kitchen area to heat up a mug of blood.

“So does he,” Giles added with a slight grimace.

Methos and Duncan just nodded, wondering if living on the Hellmouth was dangerous to your mental health as well as your physical.

“Well,” Giles continued. “Since you’re stuck here, perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone. Why don’t you have a seat while I just get...” Giles disappeared behind a bookshelf as he spoke, and returned with a large tome in his hands. “This.”

Giles set the book in the middle of the table, and Duncan and Methos each removed their long coats, hung them on the hooks at the end of the bookshelf, and took a seat. Giles slid the book across the table until it lay in front of Duncan.

“‘Demon Anthology: A Complete List of Demons Known to Man As Of 1920',” Duncan read the title.

“Yes, well,” Giles said. “The author was a bit pretentious. However, this book will give you an idea of what you’re looking at, in terms of the different types of demons that exist. And at the same time, if you come across any reference to the Pan’kr or the Host of Pan’kr, that would be most fortuitous.”

“Right.” Duncan looked at the imposingly thick volume warily.

“Thought they had their own research to do,” Spike said mistrustfully, as he returned to the table and took his seat.

“Well, actually,” Giles responded. “They’re interested in learning about demons in general, and helping us with our research will help them with theirs. I think.”

Spike stared at Giles for a moment, then tilted his head and gave a knowing smirk. “Ah, somebody just found out that demons exist, and they want more information. Well, isn’t that bloody industrious of you,” he mocked.

“Spike...”

“No, he’s right,” Duncan interrupted Giles, and then turned to Spike. “We did just find out about demons...well, recently, and we, or rather, I, do need to find out more.”

“Bloody fools,” Spike muttered, as he lowered his head to the text in front of him.

“Why do you say that?” Methos asked, agreeing with him completely.

“Because you didn’t have to come to the Hellmouth to find out about demons,” Spike replied without lifting his head. “Talk about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fiery pits of hell.”

“Spike...,” Giles began again, then hesitated, a speculative expression on his face.

“What?” Spike looked up. He’d been waiting for the Watcher to chastise him for being rude to their guests, and when it didn’t come, wondered what the other man had to say.

“These two men,” Giles spoke slowly, deliberately. “Well, they faced the demon Ahriman.”

Duncan and Methos started; surprised that Giles had given that information out so freely. But their reaction was nothing to Spike’s, as his already pale face blanched. “Ahriman?” he croaked. “Bloody hell. That wanker makes Acathla look like a child’s play toy.”

“Exactly,” Giles said, and paused again, but this time mostly for dramatic effect. “And MacLeod defeated him.”

Spike froze, the only movement his eyes, as they moved between Duncan and Methos. “No soddin’ way,” he finally spoke. “The Champion? You’re Immortals?”

“Does *everybody* know about us?” Methos asked, throwing up his hands in disgust.

Chapter Five

“Know what about you?” Willow asked, as she closed the door behind her and made her way down the steps and towards the back of the magic shop.

Everyone turned and peered around the bookshelf as one, to gaze at her in surprise, and Willow froze.

“What did I say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Methos replied smoothly. “We were just discussing a demon we’d come across and didn’t hear you come in.”

“Uh huh.” Willow continued towards the table and carefully slid her book bag off her shoulder and set it on the table. “Hey, Giles,” she greeted the Watcher.

“Willow,” Giles replied. “How are you this afternoon? And why are you here so early? Nothing’s wrong, I hope?” he asked, concerned.

“No,” Willow smiled. She realized that Giles didn’t like his normal routine disrupted. “Nothing wrong. I just thought I’d come get a head start on the research, ‘cause, you know, opening the Hellmouth and all, I figured this was more important than finishing my term paper that’s not due until, well, you know, the end of the term.” Willow nodded her head.

“Yes, well, you’re right, of course.” Giles took his glasses off and let them dangle in his fingers. “I found some books that might be helpful.” He indicated several books lying on the table. “And Spike is translating a passage in one of them for us.”

Willow glanced at Spike when Giles mentioned his name, and found the blond vampire looking back at her. She swallowed hard, and turned away. “Okay,” she agreed, her voice a bit shaky. All she could think about was licking Spike’s neck last night. He hadn’t mentioned it, so he must not have noticed. Thank the Goddess.

Willow took the empty seat next to Spike and pulled a book over.

“Sleep alright?” Spike asked. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t sensed her coming. He could still feel her lips, her tongue, on his neck, where she’d touched him in her sleep.

Willow froze, and then continued to turn the page. “Yes, fine, thank you,” she replied, attempting for casual, and hoping he couldn’t tell that she was lying. She’d lain awake for hours remembering the way he tasted.

“Good,” Spike said, and turned his attention back to his book.

***

Methos watched the exchange between the two, and smiled to himself. Ah, young love. He glanced over at Duncan, wanting to share his amusement, but the other man was already immersed in the demonology text before him.

Methos noted that Willow was busy reading and Spike was muttering to himself as he attempted the translation. Giles had gone into the backroom, presumably to complete the inventory, and the blonde girl, Anya, had returned to her position behind the counter.

He thought about leaning back and closing his eyes, but figured MacLeod would scold him if he didn’t help. No, he took that back. Mac would just look at him with wounded eyes, and Methos would feel guilty. He hated feeling guilty. Hadn’t had to worry about it for years, nearly a thousand, until he’d met MacLeod. He sighed in disgust.

He shook his head to clear it, contemplated the muttering blond, and leaned closer. “Perhaps I can help,” he said. “I’m a fair hand at languages.”

“Demon?” Spike asked, without looking up.

“Excuse me?” Methos replied sharply, wondering if the other man was calling him a demon. It wouldn’t be the first time. Although, it would be the first time after he found out that demons in fact existed.

“Are you familiar with demon languages?” Spike clarified, as he glanced at the man beside him.

“Oh, well, no...wait, yes, I know Latin.” Methos smiled. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw Willow’s lips twitch. His suspicion was confirmed when Spike turned to her.

“You think that’s funny, witch?” he asked menacingly.

“Oh, no, Spike, not at all,” she replied sweetly, as she continued to read. And then she snickered.

Spike liked it when Willow was happy, and for that reason alone didn’t tell the other man, *Dr. Adam Pierson*, he thought snarkily, to sod off. He slid the book over so Adam could look at the passage he was trying to translate.

Methos leaned over the book and lost himself in the new language.

***

Spike and Methos finished translating the text, but it hadn’t given them the information they’d hoped for. In fact, it didn’t give them any useful information at all. Spike picked the book up to throw it across the room in frustration, but Giles, who had finished his inventory and joined them an hour ago, managed to wrestle it out of his hands before he could loose it, while Willow ducked out of their way.

“That book is *priceless*! Let go,” Giles admonished.

“Bloody Corians,” Spike muttered. “I need a fag.” He rose and shoved his chair back against the wall.

“Corians?” Willow asked. “Who...what...? I thought we were looking for Pan’kr.”

“Are,” Spike said, as he moved past her, his hand brushing lightly against her arm. “But that passage about the Pan’kr was written in Corian.”

“Ah,” Willow nodded. “Nothing useful then?”

“Unless you’re interested in the breeding habits of the Pan’kr, no,” Methos replied, with a quirk of one eyebrow. “Although there was this one really interesting posi...”

“Adam,” Duncan warned, without raising his head, and Methos fell silent, his lips twitching slightly as he tried to rein in a grin.

“What?” Willow asked.

“Uh, nothing.” Methos shook his head, and pulled another book over. He ran his hands over the soft leather binding, the book so old that it was difficult to read the title on the front cover.

Giles watched him for a moment, and asked, “You really do love books, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Methos looked up sheepishly, slightly embarrassed to be caught fondling the book. “It shows?”

“Yes.” Giles nodded with a small smile. “I too, love books.” He indicated the shelves around them.

“These books are so old; the leather so soft,” Methos mused, his voice dreamy.

“Actually,” Giles said with a frown of concentration. “I believe that one’s bound in human skin.”

“What?” Methos asked, confused, barely noticing Spike slip back into his seat.

“The binding, it’s not leather, technically, it’s human skin.”

“Human skin?” Methos asked, holding his hands away from the book. “What have you gotten me into, MacLeod?” he hissed at the Scot, who ignored him other than a brief mirth-filled glance.

Methos looked at the book, and tentatively reached out to flip it open with the tip of one finger, careful not to touch the binding. “The pages aren’t human skin, too, are they?” he asked.

“No,” Giles replied distractedly, as he peered through his glasses at the book before him. “Human skin was very expensive; you only find it used in the rarest of books.”

Methos nodded, as if he understood. After spending 1000 years as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, you’d think a book bound in human skin wouldn’t bother him. “Ah, of course,” he replied, and then began reading.

***

“Hey, everyone!” Xander bounded into the shop. “Look who I ran into outside!” He indicated Buffy, who had followed him in and shut the door behind them.

“Xander!” Anya ran around the counter and embraced her boyfriend. “Missed you.” She kissed him soundly on the lips.

“Missed you, too, An,” Xander said. “Make lots of money today?”

“No,” Anya replied. “Giles isn’t charging enough.” She returned to her position behind the counter and continued counting the money. “And he isn’t paying me enough.”

“Well, all right, then!” Xander turned to the group seated around the table and changed the subject. “How we doing?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Hey, Xan, Buff,” Willow greeted her friends. “Not so good.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Buffy asked. “So, research. Yay.” She pulled a chair out and seated herself next to Giles. She briefly considered sitting next to Mac, but figured from here she’d be able to look at both Mac and Adam.

“How’s it going, Will?” She peered around Giles as she pulled a book off the pile.

“Great,” Willow replied. “I got an A+ on that chem lab!”

“Color me shocked,” Xander said, as he took the seat next to Duncan.

“I don’t always get A+’s,” Willow replied with a pout.

“No,” Xander said. “Sometimes you actually get an A.”

Giles quickly brought Buffy and Xander up to speed on the results of the afternoon’s research. When he was finished, Xander took a book off the dwindling pile and opened it. “Hey, anybody ever notice how soft this old leather is?” he asked.

Methos looked up from his book and stared at the young man, then looked over at Giles. The man’s head was bent, but he had a slight smile on his face. He wasn’t sure if the man was laughing at him, or at the boy.

“Careful,” Methos intoned dryly. “Sometimes they used human skin to make the bindings.”

“Eep!” Xander shoved the book away from him, and Spike snorted his laughter. Willow giggled, and Giles couldn’t retain the laugh that erupted. After a moment he took his glasses off and wiped his eyes with the handkerchief he kept in his pocket.

“So sorry, Xander,” he said. “But I rather needed that.”

“Glad to help, G-man,” Xander replied sarcastically, making a face. “Is that really human skin?” he asked, pointing at the book.

“No,” Giles shook his head. “Adam got the only book covered in human skin today.” He tucked the handkerchief away.

“Yay, you!” Buffy cheered.

“What’s that one called?” Xander craned his neck. “So I know not to pick it out next time.”

“Is anybody else hungry?” Willow whined. Everyone just looked at her. “Uh, that might not have come out right.”

***

Buffy slammed her book shut. “Nothing,” she said in disgust. “Giles, I think I’m going to go patrol.” She stood and pulled her jacket on, checking her pockets for stakes. “Spike, you...”

“Would you mind if we came with you?” Duncan asked. “I could really use some exercise after sitting here for hours.”

“Uh, well, I’m not sure that’s... Giles?” Buffy turned to her Watcher. Patrol was dangerous, and she didn’t want to be responsible for two researchers who didn’t know how to fight. Even if they were both hotties.

Giles looked at the other men. He hadn’t been able to learn much about Immortals yet in their brief acquaintance, but he figured that they knew how to handle themselves in a fight.

“They should be fine, Buffy,” Giles said.

“Maybe you can give us some pointers on how to kill vampires,” Duncan said, as he stood. “We ran into a couple on the way home last night, and got lucky.”

“Oh, good Lord!” Giles said. “I should have thought to tell you. Yes, Buffy can fill you in while you’re on patrol.

“The talkin’-‘em-ta-death method probably won’t work for everyone,” Spike commented, without looking up from the book he was reading.

“Shut up, Spike,” Buffy said. Willow giggled under her breath. “Willow?”

“Yes?” The other girl looked up guiltily.

“You gonna get home all right?”

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Spike said.

Buffy smirked. “Make sure you do. Ready?” she asked the two men who had put their coats on and now filled the aisle.

“Ready,” Duncan said, and made a motion with his hand to indicate that she should precede them.

“Thanks,” Buffy said. “We don’t usually have such gentlemen around here,” she called back over her shoulder, as she passed them and started up the steps.

“They just want you to get eaten first,” Spike muttered.

“I heard that!”

Chapter Six

“Okay, vampires,” Buffy started her explanation as they walked down the street. “Gosh, I feel all Giles-like! Anyway, vampires are demons who used to be human. If they have enough control, you might not be able to tell just by looking at them that they’re a vampire. Until their face changes,” she added.

“Yeah, we got a look at that last night,” Duncan replied. “Why do they do that?”

“That’s the demon.” Buffy shrugged. “The human face is just a mask. If they’re new, they won’t have as much control over their human mask, and they’re easy to pick out.”

“If most vampires wear their human mask, how do *you* tell if it’s a vampire or not?” Methos asked, finding himself interested in the subject despite his better judgment.

“My spidey sense tingles,” Buffy replied.

“Spidey sense?” Duncan asked.

“Oh, come on, MacLeod! Spiderman!” Methos replied. “I thought all you superheroes knew each other.”

“I get the reference,*Adam*,” Duncan responded. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. I just don’t understand how it works.”

“Me neither, really. I can just sense them.” Buffy shrugged. “It’s a Slayer thing. I can sense them, and they can sense me.”

“Great,” Methos said. “So they know we’re coming?”

“They always know I’m coming,” Buffy replied.

“So,” Duncan asked the question he really wanted the answer to. “How do you kill them? We found out last night that decapitation works.”

“Yep.” Buffy nodded. “Decapitation, a stake through the heart...”

“A stake?” Methos asked. “A wooden stake?”

“Yep, just like in all the movies,” Buffy agreed. “Direct sunlight, fire. Crosses and holy water’ll burn. That’s about it,” she concluded, as she turned into the first cemetery.

“Why are you patrolling a cemetery?” Duncan asked. “I would think the vampires would be cruising places like The Bronze, looking for unsuspecting victims.”

“Some do. But mostly they like to hang out in cemeteries, where they have crypts and other dark, dank places they can live. Plus, there’s a new one about to rise tonight. We try to get the new ones before they have a chance to wreak havoc,” she continued her explanation.

“Now *that* is a vampire,” she said, as she pointed out a vampire standing over a fresh grave.

“And you know this because you can sense him?” Duncan asked.

“That, and...”

“And he’s standing in a cemetery at night waiting for his friend to, uh, rise?” Methos added.

“Well, yeah, plus, look at his clothes. Vampires tend not to change their wardrobe after they die; dead giveaway,” Buffy explained.

“Why doesn’t he sense you?” Duncan asked.

Buffy shrugged. “Too far away? Stupid? Hey!” she called out to the vampire as she approached it, pulling a stake out of her waistband. “Waiting for me?”

The vampire turned and looked at her, its human mask fading away to be replaced by the demon. “Slayer,” it hissed.

“Slayee,” she responded.

The vampire swung, and Buffy deflected its punch with her arm, and then kicked it. The vampire stumbled, but recovered quickly and charged. Buffy stood her ground, and then ducked, grabbed the vampire around its legs, and stood, tossing it over her shoulder and into a gravestone.

She waited for it to regain its feet before she started pummeling it with several punches to the stomach and face. When she was done, she stood back, took a deep breath, and staked the vampire. It dissolved into a cloud of dust. She shook her hair and smoothed out her rumpled clothes, and then walked back over to the two men waiting by the grave.

“Sorry. Needed the exercise. I hate research.” She squatted beside the grave and waited.

“What now?” Methos asked.

“We wait. For this one.” She nodded towards the recently turned dirt. “Charles Delle, Beloved Husband, Beloved Father,” she read the headstone aloud.

“What happens when a vampire is first...made?” Duncan asked, as he squatted beside Buffy.

“Well, to turn a person into a vampire, a vampire has to suck their blood until they’re very close to dying, and then he makes them suck his blood. It’s a big suckfest. The vampire who makes another vampire is called their sire; a new vampire is a fledgling. They can be either childer, favored ones, or minions, more like servants or soldiers, depending on the amount of blood they were fed. I guess it makes them smarter, or stronger, or something.”

“Anyway, they die, and they come back. When they first rise, they’re filled with blood-lust. Luckily, fledges are also pretty stupid, especially if they’re minions... Here he comes.” Buffy stood and moved back.

They watched as the dirt moved, and a hand appeared. A second hand appeared and they could tell that the vampire was digging its way out of the ground. Finally the head and torso appeared.

Buffy knelt beside the struggling vampire. “Hello, Mr. Delle.”

The vampire looked up at her in surprise. “Who are you?” he asked, looking around for his missing sire.

“I’m Buffy,” she said, and then struck out with her stake, turning the vamp to dust. She stood and started walking. Duncan and Methos followed her.

“How did you know he was going to rise tonight?” Duncan asked.

“Willow.”

“Willow?”

“Yeah, she keeps an eye on the obits and morgue reports for suspicious deaths,” Buffy explained.

“Morgue reports?” Methos shuddered. “That’s awfully morbid.”

“Yes, well, that man’s family will be thanking us when they’re still alive in the morning.” Buffy pointed behind them at the grave they had just visited.

“What do you mean?” Duncan asked.

“Many vampires go after their human families first,” Buffy explained shortly. Duncan and Methos were silent at that horrifying revelation.

“Where are we going now?” Duncan asked after a couple of minutes of walking.

“We finish patrolling this cemetery,” Buffy said. “And then there are 11 more. Also, Willow found one more possible rising. Some of the older cemeteries are full, so no new burials, but I do a quick search to make sure no one’s moved in. And then I hit places like downtown, or the docks, depending on my mood, and how busy the night has been.”

Buffy led them through that cemetery and two others before she came across the grave where the next ‘possible’ had been buried, dispensing information on vampires as they walked. “Well,” she said, looking at the disturbed dirt. “Guess he was just upgraded to ‘probable’.”

They all heard a scream. “And I think I know where to find him!” Buffy began to run, and Duncan and Methos followed her. “You two stay back!” she yelled, when she caught sight of half a dozen vampires surrounding two girls, who had obviously been brought to the cemetery for the fledge’s first meal.

“Let the girls go,” Buffy cried, as she ran toward the group.

One of the vampires turned. “Make me, Slayer,” it lisped at her through its fangs.

“Gladly,” Buffy replied, as she jumped into the air and landed both feet in the chest of the vampire. He went down, and Buffy somersaulted and landed on her feet, swinging her leg to take out another vamp. The fledgling, in its hunger, was ignoring the fight around it, concentrating on the screaming girl it held.

Buffy kicked two more vamps out of her way and managed to get behind the fledgling. She staked it, and dust rained down on the girl as she fell to the ground, unconscious. Buffy could see blood on her neck, and knew she’d been bitten - she just hoped she’d gotten there in time. She stood with her legs braced, and looked at the last vampire standing, who was holding the other girl.

“Come near me, and she dies.” The vampire had his hand around the girl’s throat and was squeezing.

Buffy shrugged, “Not my problem.”

And then the girl was falling and gasping for air, as Duncan stepped up behind the vampire and broke its neck.

“Thanks,” Buffy said. “But I thought I told you to stay back? Here.” She tossed him her stake. “Finish it off.” She turned and looked around the now-empty cemetery. “Great, now I’ve gotta chase ‘em. I hate chasing ‘em. Loser vampires,” she groused.

Buffy helped the fallen girl to her feet, made sure she was okay, and then moved to the girl who had been bitten. She checked her pulse, which was still pretty strong, and then tapped her face gently, trying to rouse her. The girl opened her eyes, and Buffy and her friend helped her stand.

“You might want to get her to a hospital,” Buffy suggested, and stood watching as the two girls walked out of the cemetery as fast as their fear-weakened legs could take them. She held her hand out for the stake and Duncan returned it to her.

“So,” she asked, as they continued through the cemetery, tracking the vampires. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“Uh, doesn’t everyone know?” Duncan asked feebly. Buffy just looked at him skeptically. “Must be from watching tv,” he covered. Methos snorted at his pitiful attempt.

“Right,” Buffy replied, obviously not believing him, but having more important things on her mind. They finally came across the remaining four vampires huddled behind a crypt, conducting a hasty conference.

“Hey, guys!” Buffy greeted them happily. “Remember me?”

“Geez, Slayer!” one of the vamps complained. “Can’t you just give it a rest? I mean, you saved the girls, killed two of our friends... Haven’t you done enough for one night?”

“Um, let me think.” Buffy tilted her head, and looked back at the vampire. “No. I just hate leaving things half-done.”

“Great, an overachiever,” the vampire grumbled.

“Giles would probably disagree with you,” Buffy said, as she swung her fist at the vampire. It blocked the swing and punched her in the face. Buffy went down and two vamps charged her while the other two attempted to run. But they hadn’t counted on Duncan and Methos.

Duncan put his martial arts training to good use as he initiated a deadly dance around one of the vampires, landing blows with his fists and feet. Methos flicked his wrist and let his dagger drop into his hand, and then attacked the other vampire.

Buffy rolled towards the two vampires and swung her leg, knocking their feet out from under them. She jumped to her feet and waited calmly as the first vampire stood. It charged her again. Buffy just shook her head at its stupidity. Did they *never* learn?

She gracefully stepped to the side and staked the vampire in the back after it had run past her. She had a moment to check on Duncan’s and Methos’ progress before the other vampire was on its feet. Instead of attacking her, it turned and ran. Buffy tossed her stake in the air, caught it, and threw it at the retreating vampire.

The stake hit it in the back, and the vampire exploded into a cloud of dust. She walked over and retrieved her stake, and then stood and watched Duncan and Methos fight. These guys could really fight, she thought.

“Mac!” she called. The big man looked at her, and she tossed the stake to him. He caught it out of the air and staked the vampire he held in one smooth move. Buffy and Duncan then stood and watched Methos toy with the other vampire, inflicting shallow cuts all over its body.

“Are you going to finish him off, or play with him all night, Old Man?” Duncan asked, and then stiffened slightly when he realized what he’d said.

“I was just waiting for you two,” Methos said, as he stepped in and neatly sliced his dagger through the vampire’s neck, and then stepped back from the resulting cloud of dust.

Buffy looked between the two men. “I thought you guys did research?” she asked.

Methos wiped his dagger off on the grass, while Duncan shifted nervously.

“We never said that,” Methos hedged.

“No, but Giles said you were here to research demons.” Buffy stood her ground.

“Uh, you do research,” Duncan attempted.

“I can’t help Spike translate a demon language I’ve never seen before.” Buffy crossed her arms.

“Well, all right, we know how to fight,” Methos said. “Satisfied?” He started to slide the dagger back up his sleeve.

“Not hardly,” Buffy replied. “May I?” She held her hand out.

Methos froze, and then slid the dagger back out of the hidden sheath and handed it to her. Buffy examined it, and gave it a few experimental swings.

“Very nice,” she said. “I can’t believe you took his head off with one strike!” She sounded impressed, as she handed the dagger back to him.

“You’d be surprised what you can do when you’re inspired,” Methos said, as he replaced the dagger.

“Tell me about it,” Buffy said, as she started walking again. “There was this one time I had to kill a vampire who had been a football player when he was alive. He had this really thick neck. And all I had was this little, little Exacto knife...”

Chapter Seven

“Oh, Giles, look!” Willow squealed, as she jumped in her seat. “I think I found something!”

Everyone turned bleary eyes toward Willow. They had been researching for hours to no avail, and they were all getting tired. Giles set his cup of tea down on the table, and picked the book up that Willow had been reading. He scanned the passage quickly, and then went back and read it more slowly. He lifted his head and smiled at Willow.

“Yes, I believe you have! Good job, Willow,” he congratulated her warmly, patting her arm.

“Watcher’s pet,” Xander muttered.

“It’s late. Why don’t you all go home and get some rest? Tomorrow we can do some more research to make sure this information is accurate,” Giles said. “But if it is,” he said, as he tapped the open page. “This is just what we needed to figure out how they’re planning on opening the Hellmouth, and how to stop them. Don’t forget to bring that bloody contraption with you, all right?” he reminded Willow.

“All right, Giles.” Willow smiled as she stood and put her jacket on. “I’ll come over as soon as my last class lets out.”

“Yes, well, I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” Giles said.

“Need a ride, Wills?” Xander asked, as he and Anya stood.

“I told the Slayer I’d make sure the witch got home safely,” Spike answered for her.

Willow huffed, grabbed her book bag, and stormed towards the front door. She caught Anya’s eye and winked. Anya ducked her head and smiled. Men, even the undead kind, could be so blind, she thought, with an imperceptible shake of her head.

***

Spike stopped outside the magic shop and lit a cigarette. Willow stopped walking and turned to face him, her hands on her hips, one toe tapping.

“Are you coming?” she asked, as she drank in the sight of him. Goddess, he was just so...sexy, with those blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, and the nice chest, and she might admit to having checked out his butt once or twice...

Spike stepped up to her and lifted the book bag off her shoulder. He carried it in one hand and held his smoke in the other.

“You don’t need to carry my bag,” Willow protested, as she fell into step beside him. “It’s not like you’re my boyfriend...or, uh, anything.”

They walked to the dorm in silence, both contemplating what Willow had just said. Willow was mentally slapping herself. She couldn’t believe she’d used the b-word in front of Spike! Now he’d probably think she wanted him to be her boyfriend, and there was no way she wanted him to think that! Even though it might be partly true, she admitted to herself, and blushed.

Spike noticed Willow’s heart rate speed up after her last comment, and that her breaths were coming faster. He glanced over at her and saw that her usually pale skin was flushed. She couldn’t *want* him to be her boyfriend...could she? Spike finished his cigarette and threw it into the road. He grabbed Willow’s hand and held it as they walked.

Willow almost hyperventilated when Spike took her hand. She felt her palm start to sweat, and horses galloped in her belly. When she felt her nipples harden just from the touch of his hand on hers, Willow stumbled. She grasped Spike’s hand tighter as he caught her and pulled her up.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yes, fine,” Willow squeaked. “Stupid, uh, sidewalk.”

“Right,” Spike agreed, glancing behind them at the smooth walkway.

When they reached the steps outside the dorm, Spike stopped walking. Willow turned around and looked at him. Well, at his chin.

“Thanks for walking me home,” she managed to get out.

“You’re welcome,” Spike said, as he raised her hand to his lips and gently brushed them over her knuckles. He watched her eyes widen, and turned her hand over to kiss her palm, letting the tip of his tongue slip out to taste her.

Willow’s knees went weak, and she thought her heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest. What was he *doing*?

“Well, um, all right then.” She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp. “I’ll just be, uh, calling it a night.”

Spike lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Did you lick me the other night?” he asked.

“Wh-wh-what?” Willow stammered, her eyes going even wider, her flushed skin paling. Oh, uh, darn, he knew!

“Right here.” He let go of her hand and touched her neck with the tip of one finger. Willow’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “Like this.” He lowered his head and softly touched his lips to her neck, letting his tongue out to taste her.

Willow jerked back. “I, uh, don’t, um... I have to go!” She turned and started up the steps on legs that threatened to give out.

“Want this?” Spike asked, lifting the hand that still held her book bag.

Willow turned around and stared at the bag. “Oh, uh, yeah,” she said, not moving.

“Come and get it.” Spike smirked at her.

“Can’t you just, er, throw it?” she asked, holding her arms out.

“Wouldn’t want you to drop your laptop,” Spike said, as he walked to the bottom of the steps and stared up at her. Willow swallowed hard and walked slowly down the steps until she stood on the last one. She reached out for the bag, her eyes locked on Spike’s. He surrendered the bag, and she turned and ran up the steps and into the dorm.

Spike stood there for a long moment, enjoying the scent of Willow’s arousal, and then turned to leave.

***

When they got back to their hotel room, Methos shook his coat off and tossed it on the bed. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers and headed directly to the shower. He felt itchy from the dust, even though he couldn’t see any on his clothes. He took his time in the hot shower, letting tense muscles relax. When he was done, he walked out of the bathroom dressed only in the boxers.

“Bathroom’s all yours, MacLeod,” he told the other Immortal, who was stretched out on one of the beds drinking a beer, as he dumped his dirty clothes on a pile in the closet.

“Thanks,” Duncan replied distractedly.

“What’s wrong?” Methos asked, ever sensitive to Mac’s change of mood.

“Nothing. Just thinking,” Duncan replied without looking at him. He tipped the bottle and finished the beer, and then rose and walked to the bathroom, grabbing a clean pair of boxers and sweats on the way.

Methos watched him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Mac had been awfully thoughtful the last couple of days, he thought, as he grabbed one of the beers out of the fridge and settled himself on the other bed with the remote in his hand. He turned the television on, but didn’t see it.

Mac had been distant ever since Richie’s death. Part of the reason, Methos knew, was because he was afraid of losing another friend. The other part of the reason, Methos suspected, was because Mac just didn’t trust himself enough to be certain that it wouldn’t be at his own hand.

He feared that he would be overcome by the darkness again, as he had with the Dark Quickening, and under Ahriman’s influence, and be the one to hurt or kill another one of his friends. None of those same friends blamed him for Richie’s death, and would in fact trust him with their lives. But it was enough that Mac blamed himself.

Methos was still lost in thought when Duncan emerged from the bathroom, but the presence of the other Immortal drew his attention. Mac was...gorgeous, Methos thought. His hair, long once again, lay wet on his shoulders; his chest was covered in fine droplets of water.

Duncan settled himself on the bed and crossed his legs, assuming a meditative pose. Methos watched him through half-lidded eyes that roamed the other man’s body; avidly devouring him like a starving man before whom a banquet had been set. He felt his penis grow hard in his boxers, and almost groaned aloud.

He often wondered how just the sight of Duncan could turn him on, when all he did was annoy the hell out of him, consistently playing the Boy Scout, the hero. His bloody irritating insistence on constantly getting *involved*, just like they were doing here.

These people fought demons and protected the Hellmouth all the time, although you wouldn’t know it to look at them; they didn’t need *their* help.

“Why are you staring at me?” Duncan asked, interrupting Methos’ musings without opening his eyes or turning his head.

“Just wondering what’s going on inside that head of yours, MacLeod,” Methos replied. He shifted himself in his boxers, hoping Mac wouldn’t look over and see what else he’d been wondering.

Why in the world did he stick it out with the moral, judgmental, interfering Highlander? Because he judged himself more harshly than he judged others. Because he needed someone there to watch his back. Methos took a deep breath. And because he was in love with him. Had started falling in love with him the day they met, Methos admitted to himself.

He’d probably been halfway in love with the dashing Highland hero, the best of their kind, before they’d even met, just from reading his Chronicles; and one look into those chocolate-colored doe eyes and he’d been lost. Bloody fool. He’d never acted on those feelings, of course. He and Mac had been friends in a mutual awe-struck sort of way until Kronos’ return and Mac’s discovery that Methos had been one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse; Death on a pale horse.

Their friendship had taken a beating over that, but had survived it, though a little worse for wear. After Ahriman and O’Roarke, Methos had changed his habit of disappearing, and vowed to stick beside the Highlander who needed his friends; and that’s what he’d been doing for the past two years. They’d eventually slid back into an easy camaraderie - Mac had stopped looking at him with disappointment in his eyes, and one day Methos had stopped expecting to see it there.

Duncan finished his meditation and climbed off the bed. He walked over to the mini-fridge, stretching. “Want another beer?” he asked Methos.

Methos looked at the warm beer left in the bottom of his bottle. “Yeah,” he agreed, as he finished the beer and set the empty bottle on the bed stand. Duncan brought Methos a cold beer, and then settled himself on the other bed with his own beer and a book he’d packed. When Methos didn’t move, even to take a sip of the beer, Duncan frowned.

“Are you watching that?” he asked, indicating the television.

“Oh, no, not really. Bothering you?” Methos asked, as he turned the television off and tossed the remote on the bed.

“No. What’s bothering you?” Duncan asked.

Methos turned his head and looked at Duncan. “Why did you choose to stay here and help these people with their fight? Make it your own?”

“I told you,” Duncan replied uncomfortably, knowing he’d only told Methos part of the truth.

“Yeah.” Methos nodded. “You want to learn more about demons. Because you think it might lessen your guilt, make it...”

Methos watched Mac’s jaw work. “No. Nothing will do that. I am guilty.”

“Oh, for the gods’ sake, MacLeod!” Methos exploded, forgetting why he’d started asking questions in his frustration with the Highlander. “Enough with the self-flagellation already! You are no more to blame for Richie’s death than I am for not believing you. You may have been the instrument, but you were not the cause!”

“Does it matter, in the end?” Duncan asked sorrowfully. “Richie’s still dead.”

Methos sighed deeply as he fell back onto the bed, because he knew, to Mac, it didn’t.

“Acceptance,” Duncan spoke softly. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“I know, Mac,” Methos replied. “I know.”

Chapter Eight

The bell hanging above the front door jingled as Willow walked into the Magic Box late the next afternoon, and all conversation immediately ceased.

“What?” she cried, as she skipped down the steps. “Why do you stop talking every time I come into the room?”

“We thought you were a customer,” Giles covered smoothly. Despite the severity of the newest big bad attempting to open the Hellmouth, they had in fact been talking a bit about Immortals, a subject which Giles found fascinating. The two Immortals arrived at the magic shop earlier that afternoon, and as soon as he could, Giles sent Anya out on an errand so he could ask them some questions that he’d been thinking about since meeting them two days before.

Before the door was fully closed behind the ex-vengeance demon, Giles had seated himself at the research table and asked, “Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”

Duncan and Methos looked at each other, communicating without words, and then Duncan said, “All right. You can ask. We can’t promise to answer everything, but we’ll tell you what we safely can.”

“Fair enough,” Giles responded, with a nod. “How old are you?” he asked.

The two men exchanged glances again, and Duncan replied, “I am over four hundred years old, and Adam is a bit older than that.” Giles noticed a wry smile curve Methos’ lips, but he couldn’t decipher its meaning.

“Four hundred years old,” Giles repeated slowly. He was stunned. Even Spike looked surprised. That was older than Angel’s and Spike’s ages added together. “The things you must have seen,” he breathed, looking into the distance dreamily. He glanced at the two men. “This is really just...”

“Fascinatin’,” Spike finished for him, his tone dry.

“Well, er, yes,” Giles agreed. “Terribly fascinating. So, do you live together? I mean, Immortals. Like in a community?” he asked.

Methos nearly choked on the tea that Giles had plied them with, and Giles quickly stood to get him a napkin. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Methos said, coughing as he wiped up the spilt tea. “Fine. No, we don’t live in a community. In fact, we tend to try and avoid each other, if at all possible. Except for MacLeod, who likes to gather us all into his clan.” Methos tilted his head towards the other Immortal. Duncan just rolled his eyes.

“Avoid each other?” Giles asked. “How?”

“How what?” Methos asked.

“How do you avoid each other? Or rather, how to you identify other Immortals to be able to avoid each other?” Giles clarified.

“We have our own spider senses,” Methos answered.

“Huh?” Giles asked, not understanding the reference.

“We can sense each other,” Duncan explained, helping him out. “Much like Buffy can sense vampires.”

“Ahhh,” Giles said, nodding. “You know,” he went on. “I just can’t imagine...four hundred years. All that history...lost to the ages.”

“Not lost entirely,” Duncan commented wryly.

“How so?” Giles asked, deeply interested.

Methos snorted. “Immortals have Watchers, too.”

“For what purpose?” Giles asked.

“To watch,” Methos replied.

“Watch what?” Giles asked, confused.

“Us,” Duncan answered.

“Watch you do what?” Giles asked.

“Live,” Duncan said.

“They just...watch you?” Giles asked, his brow furrowing in concentration. “To what purpose?”

“To record the history of Immortals,” Methos replied.

“That...that’s...” Giles was at a loss for words. Watchers who just...watched. “They’re like...Peeping Tom’s,” he said. “Voyeurs!”

“Exactly,” Duncan replied.

“Why do you stand for it?” Giles asked.

“Most Immortals don’t know about it,” Duncan explained. “I only know because I stumbled upon them by accident when I was investigating the murder of...a dear friend.”

“And you?” Giles asked Methos.

“I’ve known about them for years,” he said. “In fact, I joined them.”

“You joined...?”

At that point, Willow had arrived. Now she asked, “Where’s Anya?” She looked around the shop as she slipped around the table and set her bag on it.

“She’s doing the banking,” Giles replied.

***

Willow pulled her laptop out of the book bag and set it up. She turned it on, and looked at the four men, er, three men and one vampire, sitting around the table. “Okay, not a customer, so you can continue talking.”

She looked at each of them in turn as they stared at each other and tried to come up with something to say. “See? I knew it was me!” She stormed away from the table and into the kitchen, muttering to herself, “Here Willow, do the research, let’s do a spell, stake the big, ugly vampire, but, no, we can’t tell you what we’re talking about!”

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and took a long, thirsty drink. She leaned against the counter and rolled her shoulders, trying to stretch muscles that had tightened in irritation. Big meanies!

***

“Excuse me,” Giles said to Duncan and Methos, and started to stand. Spike rose to his feet and put his hand on the Watcher’s arm.

“I’ll go,” he said, and turned to follow Willow into the kitchen, as the other three men shared a knowing look.

He found her leaning against the counter, head bent, a bottle of water in her hand. She looked very unhappy, and didn’t acknowledge his presence. Spike walked up behind her and put his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. Willow still didn’t say anything. He lowered his head and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I’d tell you, if I could,” he whispered.

“Why can’t you?” she pouted.

“Because it’s not my secret.”

“Well, whose is it?” She was still pouting.

“It’s theirs,” Spike said softly against her ear. Willow shivered.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked shyly.

“Doing what?” Spike asked.

“This.” She jiggled her shoulders to let him know she was talking about the hug.

“Why do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice so low only his vampiric senses allowed him to hear it at all.

He took the water bottle out of her hand and set it on the counter, then turned her around and pulled her against him.

“Spike,” she whispered, as she buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. It felt so good to have him hold her; even better than in her dreams.

Spike breathed deeply of Willow’s scent, and felt himself grow hard as he held her. Willow felt Spike’s erection against her stomach, and tilted her head to look up at him, her face flushed. Spike lowered his head...and the bell jingled again as the front door opened, and they heard Anya’s voice.

“You should probably get back out there,” Spike said, without letting her go. Now that he actually had her in his arms, he didn’t really want to let go of her.

“Hmm, probably,” Willow agreed, without moving. “Except I don’t think I can walk,” she added. There was a delicious heat spreading between her thighs at the knowledge that Spike wanted her.

Spike smirked. “I’d take care of that for you, Red, but we don’t have a door.” He indicated the open doorway behind them with a tilt of his head.

“Right.” Willow blushed, and took a careful step back and out of Spike’s arms. She looked into his eyes and licked suddenly dry lips.

Spike watched her tongue come out and wet her lips. He opened his mouth and brought his teeth together with a loud ‘click’, as if he wanted to take a bite out of her. Willow’s eyes widened; she reached for her water bottle with a shaking hand.

“I, uh, you ready?” she asked.

“I’m gonna need a minute,” Spike said, as he adjusted the fit of his jeans. Willow’s eyes followed the motion and caught on his erection pressing against the front of the black denim. “And that’s not helping,” he added, as she stared at him, making him harder.

“Sorry. I’ll just...” She pointed towards the door. “Be, uh, going.” She sidestepped towards the doorway, and then turned and walked through it. She took a deep breath as she moved back to the table.

“Hey, Anya,” she greeted the blonde now seated behind the counter, as she took a seat in front of her laptop.

“Hi, Willow,” Anya replied, looking up briefly from the supply catalogue she was looking through.

“Okay, Giles,” Willow said, pointedly ignoring the other two, still a bit miffed that she couldn’t be included in the secret, whatever it was. “What did you want me to research?”

Giles pulled the book over and opened it to the passage Willow had found describing the Host of Pan’kr and the ritual to open the Hellmouth. They reviewed it together, and picked out key terms to search. When they were done, Willow started her first search.

Spike returned to the table with a mug of warmed blood and retook his seat beside Willow. He picked up the book he had been reading before Duncan and Methos showed up that afternoon; before Giles asked the two Immortals if they would answer some questions for him.

He leaned back in the chair and spread his legs, letting his thigh rest alongside Willow’s. He smiled as her heartbeat sped up.

***

After Willow and Spike left the table, Giles returned to the research he had been conducting before Duncan and Methos arrived, and Duncan had turned his attention to the ‘Demon Anthology’ text Giles had given him yesterday. Bored, Methos pulled another book over, careful not to touch the cover too much, flipped it open, and began reading.

He looked up when Willow returned to the table, but she paid him no regard. He figured that she was still annoyed at them, and turned his own attention back to the book he had chosen, though he did notice that she seemed a little flushed. When Spike returned to the table, Methos didn’t look up; but he thought he heard the redhead gasp as the blond settled himself in his chair.

***

When Buffy and Xander arrived a couple of hours later, just before sundown, Giles gathered everyone around the table and told them what Willow had found the night before.

“Now that we’re all here, I want to let you know what information Willow found last night,” he began. “It turns out that the vampire Buffy staked didn’t actually say that their ‘boss’ wasn’t in town yet, but that *B’az*, which roughly translates to high priest, wasn’t in town. B’az will attempt to perform a ritual to bring forth their god, Pan’kr, who it seems their race was named for.”

“Pan’kr is a non-corporeal, well, demon, as far as we’re concerned, and needs a, uh, vessel, to house its essence. The Host of Pan’kr, rather than meaning a very large number of Pan’kr, such as an army, is instead the living being who will, er, house the essence of the demon. Hence, the *Host* of Pan’kr,” Giles explained.

“Willow has done some additional searches on that, er, dread machine,” he continued, “and we have determined how to stop B’az. Now, having said that ‘host’ doesn’t mean a ‘large army’, it seems certain that a high priest would not be sent to the Hellmouth to call forth the god of his people without a sizeable force to make sure he succeeds.”

“Willow and I will work on the means to stop the priest from performing his ritual. Buffy, Spike, Anya, and Xander, you four will come up with a plan of attack to get through the priest’s lines of defense and take out B’az and the Host. Clear?” he asked, looking around the table at each of them in turn.

“Yes,” they all replied.

“What about us?” Duncan asked. “We can help.”

Methos just rolled his eyes.

“Yes,” Giles replied with a sigh. “You could. And I’ve given that some serious consideration this afternoon. We all,” he said, indicating the young people sitting around the table, “have worked together for years. One year, for some of us.” He inclined his head towards Spike and Anya. “And four years for others. We are a team. We may not be the well-oiled version of the machine, but we work well together. We know each other. We trust each other.”

Willow glanced at Spike, and saw that he was staring at the table, a purposely blank expression on his face. He felt the weight of Willow’s gaze, and looked up at her. She curled her lips into a small smile and brushed her fingertips across his thigh. Spike reached out and grabbed her hand, holding onto it like a lifeline. Buffy and Xander shifted in their seats, wondering what Giles was talking about.

“Should you join us in this battle, you introduce an unknown into the equation, and we can’t afford unknowns. We would need to be completely honest with each other so that all of us...” He circled his finger around the group seated at the table. “...know the capabilities of each of the rest of us.”

Duncan started to open his mouth, but Giles stopped him with a raised finger. Willow’s eyes widened as she realized that Giles was talking about the discussion she had interrupted that afternoon.

“Although your help would be appreciated, we’ve battled demons and kept the Hellmouth closed in the past *without* your assistance. Let me just give you an example of what I mean. Suppose a stranger came to town one day and said he, or she,” he added, looking down at Willow when she huffed, “wanted to help us in a battle against demons. What this stranger didn’t tell us is that he, *she*, has the ability to heal quickly. Now, in the battle, she is stabbed in the side with a sword. Not knowing that she will heal quickly, one of our number rushes to her aid, leaving their post unguarded...for nothing. That could very well spell disaster.”

“I am not telling you that you have to expose your secret. Only that you must *if* you want to help us. However, I want you to think about it before you agree. We, in turn, have secrets of our own to tell...”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Anya asked worriedly.

“I’m with de...er, Anya,” Spike said, squeezing Willow’s hand tighter, until he heard her squeak in pain. “Sorry,” he whispered, loosening his grip, glad the pain had been unintentional and the soddin’ chip hadn’t gone off.

“...but it will be a mutual sharing,” Giles continued, ignoring Anya and Spike. If these Immortals agreed to help them, their assistance could be invaluable. But he wasn’t going to tell them that.

“Now, if you decide not to help us, you will, of course, still be welcomed here to avail yourselves of the books in my collection. But I must ask you to leave at this time, so we may begin our preparations. If you *do* decide to help us, please be here by ten o’clock tomorrow night. The ritual is slated to take place at midnight. That should give us enough time to discuss our, uh, unique capabilities, our proposed plan of attack, and get there in time. Any questions?” he concluded, looking around the table at everyone.

There were questions galore, but everyone shook their heads ‘no’.

“Even if we decide not to assist you in the actual fight,” Methos spoke up, “we do have battle experience, and could at least help you plan your attack.”

Duncan looked at him in surprise. Methos tried not to show his own surprise at his unsolicited offer of assistance.

“I agree,” Giles nodded. “Your assistance in planning this attack would very probably be invaluable. However, the very attack we plan will encompass each of our individual...talents, if you will, which some of us might be as uncomfortable to share as you are.”

“How come you get to decide if we share?” Anya muttered. She didn’t want anyone to know she was an ex-demon. People didn’t take kindly to demons. Even if they were currently productive members of society.

Her complaint was lost in the sounds of Duncan and Methos reluctantly gathering their coats and taking their leave. As soon as the two Immortals left, Giles set Buffy, Spike, Xander, and Anya to figuring out how they were going to get into the old, burnt-out high school to eliminate the Host. He and Willow moved into the backroom to discuss the binding spell they’d use on the priest, B’az, and to gather the necessary ingredients.

***

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Methos asked, as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Do what?” Duncan asked innocently.

“Don’t be obtuse, MacLeod,” Methos replied. “You’re going to tell all of them you’re an Immortal.”

“Maybe,” Duncan admitted.

“There’s no maybe about it,” Methos scoffed. “You’ve already decided. You’d have told them back there if that Watcher didn’t stop you.” Methos tried to distance himself from the other group.

“No!” Duncan turned on Methos. “I would not have exposed you to everyone without discussing it with you first.”

“What good is a discussion if you’ve already made up your mind? Your ‘secret’ and my ‘secret’ are the same thing! You expose me if you expose yourself!”

Duncan just stared at him, his mouth working. “I know,” he finally said, and turned away and continued walking.

“So, what?” Methos called. “End of discussion?”

Duncan didn’t answer.

Chapter Nine

The sound of metal clanging against metal could be heard in the old cemetery. If you were close enough, you could also hear the sounds of harsh, ragged breathing as the two men struck and parried, dodged and thrust. If you got even closer, you could see the sweat beading up and running down their faces, soaking their shirts.

“Why are we still even *in* this town, MacLeod?” Methos asked, as he lunged at Duncan, pushing to find out what the other man was really up to.

“I told you, Old Man!” Duncan caught Methos’ sword on his and threw him back. “I need to learn more about demons.”

“So buy a book.” Methos stood in front of the younger, but insufferably stubborn man, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his Ivanhoe held at the ready, his body relaxed.

“That’s not enough!” Duncan moved into position, his arms above his head, his katana held loosely in his hands, its tip pointed down.

“And what would be enough, Highlander?” Methos asked, making no move to engage him.

“I need to understand, to learn, how these people can fight them, demons, day in and day out... And win. I need to understand why I couldn’t...” Duncan lowered his arms, his breaths coming fast now, from emotion rather than exertion.

“But you *did*,” Methos reminded him softly.

“Not in time! Not in time to save Richie. I know I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I don’t know...” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I will ever be able to assuage my guilt enough to accept what I’ve done. But if I could find something, *do* something, to give his death some *meaning*, Methos.” Duncan looked at him hopefully.

Methos froze at Duncan’s words, his tone, as he finally got the information he’d been looking for. “What are you thinking, MacLeod?” he asked in disbelief. “You really *are* going to make this fight your own! And not just tomorrow’s battle. What, you don’t have enough to worry about with Immortals coming for your head, now you want to fight demons, too? Fighting demons will not bring Richie back; it will just give you more opportunities to get yourself killed! Is that what you want? To end it?”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Methos.” Duncan shook his head in resignation. “Although I would like it if you did. And I don’t expect you to stay, although I wish you would...”

“Damn you!” Methos interrupted him angrily. “Damn you, MacLeod, for making me care whether you live or die! Damn you for making me need you! And damn you...damn you for making me love you,” he practically whispered, as he turned away from Duncan and kicked a headstone. “You stupid...bloody...sod.” He let his shoulders slump.

“Methos...,” Duncan began softly, and Methos wondered whether the other man had overheard him. Before he could find out, they were interrupted.

“Aww,” came an unfamiliar voice. “Lover’s quarrel? That’s so sad. Want me to make it all go away?”

As one, Duncan and Methos turned to face this new threat. Four vampires, game-faces to the fore, stood a dozen steps away. They’d been so caught up in their own heated discussion, they’d forgotten the dangers around them.

Oh, well, Methos thought. He had a lot of frustration to work out. Probably best if he worked it out on these demons, whose presence was rather fortuitous, instead of on MacLeod. Wouldn’t do to accidently take the man’s head in a fit of pique.

“You can try.” Methos took a step towards the group, his sword held down at his side, his other hand held out towards them, fingers motioning to them in a ‘come and get it’ manner. The vampires charged, splitting up between the two men. Methos held his position until the two that were running at him were almost upon him, and then he raised the Ivanhoe.

***

Duncan moved away from Methos as the other man was talking, so they would have room to fight without worrying about a stray swing taking either of their heads. Despite Methos’ earlier words, he didn’t have a death wish. He just wanted the pain to go away; almost as much as he wanted to hold on to it as a reminder of Richie.

He also stood his ground as the vampires charged him. When they neared, he did a spin kick, knocking one of the vampires onto the ground, and immediately whirled to face the other. He lashed out with his sword, leaving a deep slash down the arm of the vampire who’d spoken earlier.

“That hurt,” it hissed, turned, and angrily rushed him.

“And that was stupid,” Duncan muttered, stepping to the side as he had seen Buffy do, and neatly slicing the vampire’s head from his shoulders as it passed him. The vampire exploded into a cloud of dust, and Duncan continued his motion so that he was facing the vampire he’d kicked to the ground. The vampire took a step back, but Duncan was not about to let it get away.

***

Methos skewered one of the vampires on his sword. He placed his foot against the vampire’s stomach and pushed, shoving him off the blade. The vampire fell to the ground, and Methos turned his attention to the other vampire, who approached him more cautiously. This vampire kept glancing at its friend, and Methos chanced a glance down to see that the other vampire was carefully rising to its feet, its hand holding a wound that was slowly closing.

Great, Methos remembered. They heal quickly. He darted towards the standing vampire, slashing his sword before him. The vampire backed away from him, stalling for time until Methos backed it against a crypt. The vampire’s eyes widened in surprise when it realized it was trapped, and then the expression was gone as Methos sliced through its neck.

He turned back towards the other vampire and found it standing right in front of him. The vampire lashed out with its hand, and Methos automatically jerked back. He wasn’t fast enough, and the vampire connected, slicing Methos’ cheek with its sharp nail.

Methos hissed in pained surprise. He brought his sword up defensively as the vampire swung at him again, and lopped off the vampire’s arm at the elbow. The vampire screamed in pain, and Methos took advantage of the vampire’s distraction. He grabbed the hilt of his Ivanhoe with both hands and swung, removing the vampire’s head. The vampire dispersed in a cloud of dust, and Methos backed away, coughing as he breathed some of the dust into his lungs.

He turned back towards the fight to see that Duncan had finished off both his vampires and was moving towards Methos. The other man looked angry. Must be he hadn’t worked all of his frustration out on the vampires. Although, truth be told, Methos hadn’t either. Fighting an unarmed opponent just wasn’t as satisfying; the battle was over too quickly.

Duncan stalked towards him, and Methos took an instinctive step backward, running into the same crypt he’d driven the vampire against. Methos stepped forward, unwilling to let Duncan think that he was intimidated, although he looked like nothing so much as the Highland warrior he once was, as he strode towards him.

Duncan didn’t stop walking until he stood inches from Methos. “You’re hurt.” He reached out to touch the already healing gash on Methos’ cheek.

“It’s just a scratch.” Methos pulled his head away.

“What did it cut you with? I didn’t think they were armed.”

“It wasn’t. Used its fingernail. Bloody sharp,” Methos replied, reaching up to touch his own cheek.

“Good thing you won’t catch anything,” Duncan said seriously. “They can’t be clean.”

Methos gave him a questioning look. The depth of his concern for Methos’ well-being after being scratched was odd.

Duncan looked like he wanted to say something, but must have realized that this was not the place to have a heartfelt discussion. “Let’s get back to the hotel,” was all he said.

Both men walked over to the headstone where they’d left their coats. Duncan produced a cloth that they used to wipe off their blades. They sheathed the swords in their coats and swung them on, then began the interminably long, though uneventful, walk back to their hotel. Neither man attempted to break the silence that fell between them, each lost in his own thoughts.

Methos couldn’t believe he had slipped, had let the other man know how much he needed him. That was foolish. But so was staying around the Highlander. For the sake of his head, and of his heart. He’d lived with his unrequited love for years, and had often wondered what Duncan would do if he told him. Now he prayed the Scot hadn’t heard his whispered declaration, because he didn’t know what he’d do if Duncan didn’t feel the same.

***

Duncan, on the other hand, was surprised that the older Immortal needed him at all. He only seemed to be able to irritate Methos, and could never understand why he bothered to stick around. Until the times he didn’t. And then Duncan wondered if he’d come back. But after the battle with O’Roarke, Methos had rarely left his side, except for short trips when he was needed to translate some obscure document or to authenticate some important historical discovery.

Duncan always thought it was because Methos thought he was mentally unstable, after Richie, and Ahriman, and O’Roarke. Now he wondered if it wasn’t just because Methos liked being around him, as much he enjoyed having the older Immortal near. And how had that happened exactly? Their...friendship had started out as hero worship. Methos, the oldest living Immortal was supposed to be a myth; and then there he was, in the flesh.

What was a 400 year old Immortal to do when faced with a 5000 year old myth? Kneel down and worship; and that’s what Duncan had wanted to do. And then he found out that his hero had feet of clay. It took a while to work through the emotional detritus left in the wake of the Dark Quickening, the reunification and destruction of the Four Horsemen, Keane, Byron, Ahriman, Richie’s death, and O’Rourke; but they had finally managed to do it.

Methos’ whispered admission stunned Duncan; left him breathless. He tried to remember when hero worship had turned to love, but couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. Perhaps it had always been, and he had just needed to discover it. The man was frustrating and irritating, but Duncan found himself growing aroused as the image of Methos, standing in the middle of the cemetery with his sword held down at his side and yelling at Duncan, filled his mind.

That image was quickly followed by another; that of Methos taking a step back when Duncan had stalked him, a wild look in his eyes that could only be described as desire. He had never imagined that Methos felt anything more than friendship for him, and was still wondering how he should respond when they reached the hotel.

Duncan and Methos walked through the hotel lobby and entered the elevator without even noticing their surroundings. They were standing outside their room before Duncan thought to reach into his jeans pocket for the keycard. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, shrugging his coat off before he’d even cleared the doorway.

He hung the coat up and held his hand out to Methos.

“What?” Methos asked, as he slipped out of his coat.

“Give me your coat,” Duncan replied. Methos handed him the coat and Duncan hung it up. “Get me a beer, too,” he said, as he strode to the bathroom, knowing Methos would head directly for the mini-fridge.

Duncan reappeared with a warm, wet washcloth to find Methos sprawled out on the couch, a beer in his hand, a second beer on the coffee table in front of him. Without a word, Duncan leaned over him and wiped the dried blood off his cheek, making sure that the skin underneath was completely healed.

***

“What’s with you, MacLeod?” Methos pushed his hand away, the gentle touch too much for him. “I have been hurt before, you know.”

Duncan sighed, and looked down at the rust-colored stain on the washcloth. “That was before you told me you loved me.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Methos had hoped that Duncan hadn’t heard that little revelation, or had perhaps forgotten it during the fight. “About that...”

Duncan sat down on the couch beside Methos, and reached for the beer. He took a long draw on the bottle, and then interrupted Methos, who he hadn’t really been listening to any way. “I’m not trying to get myself killed, Methos. I just need to make a difference.”

“You make a difference every bloody day, Mac.” Methos’ voice was deep, and wound around him like the smoke from a good cigar, flowed over him like smooth brandy. “What you really want is to bring Richie back, but you can’t.”

“I know,” Duncan admitted. “That’s why I need to make his death mean something.” He turned his head to the side, and they stared at each other for a moment. “Needing you made me feel weak. I didn’t think you ever needed anyone. I wanted to be strong like you,” Duncan finally spoke.

“Ha!” Methos laughed. “I’m not strong! I need people far too much, that’s why I always...,” he broke off.

“Leave?” Duncan asked.

“Yes,” Methos whispered, taking a drink to ease his suddenly dry throat.

Duncan reached out and brushed Methos’ cheek with his fingers, and this time Methos let him. “Do you want to leave now?”

“You scare the shit out of me, Mac,” Methos said, as if that answered the question. And maybe it did.

“Will you stay anyway?” Duncan asked, letting his thumb graze over Methos’ lips, as his eyes caught and held Methos’.

“Are you trying to bribe me, MacLeod?” Methos asked in breathless surprise, as the feel of Duncan’s fingers on his face, on his lips, aroused him.

“Would it work?” Duncan asked, the tone of his voice a heady combination of deep fear and light teasing.

“Might.” Methos swallowed hard.

Duncan leaned towards Methos, and replaced his thumb with his lips, and just let them brush softly over the older Immortal’s. He took Methos’ lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it, and Methos groaned. The sound broke the spell they were under, and Duncan pressed his lips to Methos’ more forcefully, with more urgency, running his tongue over them.

Methos parted his lips and let Duncan in, allowed Duncan to explore his mouth, and then he sucked on Duncan’s tongue. Duncan groaned as the sensation sent a spark straight to his groin. Methos moved his free hand to the side of Duncan’s face and held him, as he leaned into him and took control of the kiss, his tongue invading Duncan’s mouth, exploring, then laying claim.

Eventually they had to break apart so they could breathe. Duncan rested his forehead against Methos’, and closed his eyes. Methos let his eyes roam hungrily over Duncan’s face. His hand moved down Duncan’s neck, to his shoulder, then down his chest and abdomen. Duncan’s stomach muscles clenched at the contact, and he gasped as Methos’ fingertips slipped beneath his waistband.

Duncan pulled back and set his beer on the coffee table, and then reached for Methos’, taking it out of his hand and setting it beside the other. He lowered his head to Methos’ neck, pushed his collar out of the way, and ran his tongue over the sensitive skin, then sucked on it. Methos’ fingers closed convulsively over Duncan’s biceps.

“Methos,” Duncan breathed in the other man’s ear.

“Duncan,” Methos groaned, as his head fell back, exposing his neck to Duncan’s lips and tongue.

Chapter Ten

After the four Scoobies determined the best way to approach and enter the old High School, they decided who would fight the force that B’az would have with him, and who would attempt to slip past them to find and eliminate the Host before the demon was called forth.

Willow and Giles found a binding spell and a protection spell, read them over several times so they were familiar with them, and gathered the ingredients for both.

When each group had completed their respective tasks, they all sat around the table and shared their information. They would approach the school from the street, as there was no direction they could come from where they wouldn’t be seen. Spike, Xander, and Anya would battle the demon forces, while Buffy fought her way to the Host.

Willow and Giles would remain outside the school, in what used to be the courtyard where Buffy, Willow, and Xander would sometimes meet for lunch. Giles would cast the protection spell around them, and Willow would then cast the binding spell while Giles stood additional guard over her in case any of the defending force noticed them and attempted to break through the protective barrier.

Since there was nothing left for them to do that night, except get plenty of rest for the upcoming battle, Giles sent them all home, except for Buffy and Spike, who would do a quick patrol first.

“Come on, Red,” Spike said, as he stood. “We’ll walk you home before we patrol.” Spike looked over Willow’s head at Buffy, to make sure that was all right.

“Good idea.” Buffy nodded her head, and continued into the backroom to gather up some weapons.

“I’m not...,” Willow began heatedly, and then looked up at Spike with a smile, “...gonna argue.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Spike drawled. “Any other firsts you wanna try out tonight, Red?”

Willow blushed furiously as she thought about the many firsts she and Spike could try out, and refused to look at him as she fumbled for her jacket. Spike took it out of her hands and held it for her. Willow slipped her arms into the sleeves and blushed again when Buffy came out and raised her eyebrows.

“When did Spike go all gentlemen-prefer-redheads on us?” she teased.

“Buffy!” Willow squeaked.

“Do we need to go there?” Xander, who had been trying to ignore the byplay between the two, groaned.

“It’s about time,” Anya commented.

“An,” Xander moaned.

“I have to agree,” Giles added, as he joined them after making sure the back door was locked and the lights out.

“Giles!” Willow protested.

“Well, really,” he said. “You two have been dancing around each other for weeks. It was getting quite ridiculous.” Giles headed for the door. “Are you all coming or did you plan on spending the night here?”

The five of them rushed to catch up to him. Giles opened the door and let his herd of children pass him, and then turned out the lights and locked the front door. They escorted Xander and Anya to Xander’s jalopy, and then Giles to the little red convertible that was still the topic of much teasing.

After the others had driven off, Spike lit a cigarette and then took Willow’s hand in his. Willow blushed again as Buffy made sure Willow knew she noticed the hand-holding, and the three of them headed for the UC Sunnydale campus.

When they reached the steps outside the dorm, they all stopped walking and stood around awkwardly. “Well, I guess I should go in,” Willow said. “You guys need to patrol.”

Spike just stared into her eyes.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Buffy exclaimed. “Just kiss each other already!” She turned her back and stomped off to wait on one of the benches.

Willow blushed and looked up at Spike through lowered lashes. Spike placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face. He lowered his head and gently pressed his lips to hers. He stepped back suddenly, squeezed her hand, and let go.

“Spike!” Willow took an uncertain step towards him, not understanding what just happened. He was kissing her...and then he wasn’t.

“Don’t touch me, Willow,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire. “Unless you want the Slayer to patrol alone tonight.” He tried to smirk, but it came out as more of a grimace, as his erection pressed painfully against the binding denim.

Willow’s eyes dropped to his jeans, and then rose to his eyes. She couldn’t help the heat that rose in her, flushing her face, and spreading to her center. “Do you think she would mind?” she asked softly, partly teasing, and partly dead serious.

“That’s...gonna earn you a spankin’, missy!” Spike threatened, as he took a step forward, and then back. “After this mess with B’az is over, you’re mine,” he promised, pointing his index finger at her.

“Okay,” Willow agreed breathlessly, imagining what exactly Spike would do to her.

“You, uh, get yourself inside now.” He waved his hand towards the dorm behind Willow.

“All right.” She smiled. “Bye, Buffy, see you later. Be careful. Both of you,” she added, as she looked back at Spike.

“I’m always careful, Red,” Spike smirked.

“Uh huh,” Willow agreed noncommittally.

“I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.” Buffy rejoined them.

“I’m not concerned about that. Just stay safe. B’az and his henchmen might already be in town.”

“Don’t worry about the great bleached one. I’ll make sure nothing happens to him,” Buffy assured her.

“Buffy!” Willow protested. “It’s not just Spike. You too!”

“I know,” Buffy admitted with a smile. “I’ll be careful, too. Now, shoo!” She waved her hands toward Willow, shooing her towards the dorm.

“All right,” Willow agreed. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Red.” Spike reached out and tugged gently on a strand of Willow’s hair. “Go on.” He inclined his head. Willow turned and walked up the steps. With one last look over her shoulder, she pushed the door open and went inside.

***

Methos tugged on Duncan’s waistband to pull him closer. Duncan obligingly rearranged himself so that he was lying atop Methos, his erection pressing into the other man’s groin, where Methos’ erection mirrored his own. Duncan groaned and bit down on Methos’ neck as their sensitive flesh came into contact through two layers of denim.

“Oh gods, Duncan!” Methos cried, as Duncan simultaneously bit him and pressed into him. Duncan sucked on Methos’ neck and moved his hips against him. He slipped his hands between them and tugged Methos’ shirt out of his jeans, his hands slipping beneath to press against the warm, firm skin of Methos’ stomach.

Methos spread his legs and locked his thighs around Duncan’s hips, bringing them into closer contact. He placed his hands on Duncan’s ass, pulling him nearer. “Jesus, Duncan,” he groaned, lifting his own hips into the other man. He’d waited so long for this, wanted it so badly, he almost couldn’t believe it was happening.

Duncan groaned loudly in response, his mouth full of Methos’ skin; skin he wasn’t willing to part with. Suddenly he realized that Methos was still talking. He caught the words ‘naked’ and ‘bed’, and thought that sounded like a good idea, but was loathe to separate himself from the other man.

He finally lifted his head and examined the purpling bruise surrounded by the imprint of his teeth that he’d left on Methos’ neck. His mark. Unfortunately, it would be gone before they fell asleep. Well, he’d just have to mark him again. And again. Duncan raised his head and looked down into hazel eyes dark with desire.

Duncan let his eyes run over Methos’ face, devouring him with a look. He lowered his head and licked Methos’ lips, biting gently on the lower. There was just something about that lower lip. He’d wanted to know how it tasted almost from the day they met, when he’d recognized the oldest Immortal; when he had invited Duncan into his home with the words ‘mi casa es su casa’.

“Duncan,” Methos protested weakly. “Bed.”

“Mmm hmm,” Duncan agreed, as he kissed the other man again. “Excellent idea.” He kissed him again. “Just one problem.”

“What’s that?” Methos asked, a smile curving the corner of his lips as Duncan dipped his head for another kiss.

“Don’t want to stop touching you.” Duncan kissed him again, slipping his tongue between Methos’ lips, feasting on the taste of him, the feel of him, as he rocked his hips against him. And then he was tipped off the couch. His back hit the floor, and his breath ‘whooshed’ out of him.

“What in hell was that for, Old Man?” he yelled at the man crouched over him as he nursed a bruised elbow, his previous desire slightly diminished.

“I want you naked, Duncan. Now,” Methos snarled in reply.

“Oh, Christ!” Duncan moaned, forgetting the pain, his cock surging at Methos’ words.

“Problem?” Methos smirked at him.

“Nothing you couldn’t fix,” Duncan responded breathlessly.

“Let’s just see,” Methos said, reaching for Duncan’s waistband. “I am a Doctor, you know,” Methos teased. “Just tell me where it hurts.”

Duncan’s hips bucked as Methos’ fingers grazed his painfully hard erection. Methos unbuttoned and unzipped Duncan’s jeans, and reached inside his boxers to wrap his fingers around his swollen cock. Methos closed his eyes and let the sensation of touching Duncan fill him. He moved his hand up and down the shaft, and ran his thumb over the head, coating it with precum.

Duncan opened his eyes and watched Methos’ face. He looked like a man at worship. The thought of Methos worshiping his cock brought a small smile to his face at the same time it caused said organ to jump in Methos’ hand.

Methos opened his eyes and looked down at Duncan. He raised his hand to his lips and licked the precum off of his thumb. “Lift your hips,” he said. Duncan complied and Methos pulled his jeans and boxers down far enough to free his cock and balls.

“Ah, yes,” he moaned, as he slipped his hand between Duncan’s thighs and cupped his heavy sac. He lowered his head and licked a path from the base of Duncan’s cock to the sensitive spot just below the head. Duncan fisted his hands and tried to grip the rug beneath him.

“Methos,” Duncan growled. Methos raised his eyes to Duncan’s as he swirled his tongue around the head. Duncan could see the mirth mixing with the heat in the other man’s eyes. “Methos,” he growled again in warning.

Methos smiled. The smile reached his eyes and Duncan realized that not all of Methos’ smiles did that; he almost cried at the beauty of it. And then Methos pulled the head of Duncan’s cock into his mouth, and Duncan did cry out. Methos sucked the head, letting his tongue play over the nerves bundled just below the ridge, as he gently kneaded the firm balls in his hand.

Methos lowered his head and took more of Duncan into his mouth. Duncan couldn’t help bucking his hips, the desire to fuck Methos’ mouth building in him. And then Methos’ finger was pressing against the puckered opening behind his balls, and Duncan screamed his release as he came, his cock exploding into Methos’ mouth.

Chapter Eleven

Duncan opened eyes he’d closed as the powerful orgasm swept through him, and looked into Methos’ eyes. He sat up and reached out for the other man, who was still kneeling between his legs. Methos took his hand and allowed Duncan to pull him forward so that he straddled Duncan’s legs and leaned against his chest.

Duncan put one hand behind Methos’ head and pressed it down to him. Methos kissed Duncan, allowing the other man to taste himself. The kiss started out slow and gentle, and became deep and urgent as the heat quickly built between them.

Duncan pulled away. “My turn,” he whispered huskily. Methos shivered, the deep timbre of Duncan’s voice washing over him.

Duncan reached out and began to unbutton Methos’ shirt. He pushed it away from his chest and leaned forward to kiss and nibble at his chest, to lick and suck on his nipples. Methos groaned as Duncan worked his nipples into hard nubs.

Duncan slipped his hands around Methos’ waist and ran them down over his ass, tugging him closer, making Methos moan, his straining erection captured between them. He felt Duncan smile against his chest.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Problem?” Duncan asked.

“Nothing you can’t fix,” Methos replied tartly.

Duncan pushed him back far enough so he could get his hands between their bodies to unbutton and unzip Methos’ jeans. Methos hissed as Duncan slipped his hand inside Methos’ boxers and dragged his fingers over the other man’s erection.

“I wasn’t a Doctor,” Duncan said. “But I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will, Highlander,” Methos groaned. “Just do it soon, will you?”

“Don’t be impatient, Methos,” Duncan teased. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’m going to come in your hand if you don’t...Oh, gods!” he cried, as Duncan raked a nail over the tip of his cock. “Duncan!”

“Get on the couch,” Duncan instructed.

Methos pushed himself up and fell back onto the couch. Duncan sat up and untied Methos’ boots and pulled them and his socks off his feet. He started to roll to his knees, and realized the awkwardness of his half-dressed position. He kicked his own jeans and boxers off, and then pulled his socks off before kneeling in front of Methos.

“Lift your hips, Old Man,” he commanded. Methos raised his hips and Duncan pulled his jeans and boxers off, tossing them onto the growing pile. He took a minute to appreciate the view of Methos sprawled on the couch, dressed only in the open shirt that bared his hard chest and firm stomach, his cock jutting from the nest of curls between his thighs.

Duncan reached out and cupped Methos’ balls in his hands. Holding them as if he were weighing them, and then closing his hand around them and gently kneading. He curled the fingers of his other hand around Methos’ cock and ran it up the length of it, and then back down.

“Duncan,” Methos hissed, as Duncan pleasured him. “Take your sweater off.” He reached out and tugged at the light sweater Duncan was wearing. Duncan grabbed the hem and lifted the sweater over his head. Methos moaned in appreciation of what he saw.

He reached his hand out and ran his fingers over Duncan’s shoulder and down his chest as far as he could reach. He’d seen Duncan’s naked chest before, lusted after it, but never had he dreamed he’d ever be able to touch it like this. The sight of the naked man kneeling before him made his body tense.

“Jesus, Duncan, I’m going to come from just looking at you!”

“I don’t think so, Methos.” Duncan reached out and wrapped his fingers around the base of Methos’ cock.

“Son of a...!” Methos cried, as Duncan stemmed his orgasm. “Duncan!” he cried in desperation.

“I haven’t had a chance to taste you yet.” With a sadistic smile, Duncan lowered his head and licked the tip of Methos’ cock. He took the head into his mouth and sucked on it, his tongue swirling around the ridge. He lowered his mouth over Methos, taking him deeper as he continued to suck and press his tongue against the underside.

Methos grabbed Duncan’s head and instinctively bucked his hips, trying to find release. Duncan placed his free hand on Methos’ hip to hold him down and sucked harder. Methos rolled his head against the back of the couch. Duncan’s mouth on him felt so good it hurt. He dug his fingers into Duncan’s hair and pulled it free from the clasp holding it back.

Without warning, Duncan let go of Methos’ cock and placed both hands on his hips. He took Methos in until his cock head brushed the back of Duncan’s throat, and then he swallowed around it. Methos cried out as his body tensed and stilled, and then he came, filling Duncan’s mouth and throat with his release.

Duncan swallowed, and continued to suck on Methos until he was clean, before letting the softening flesh fall from his mouth. He looked up at Methos, who was staring down at him through half-lidded eyes, his hands still buried in Duncan’s hair. He was afraid to say anything, afraid that if he broke the spell they were under Methos would realize that this had been a bad idea.

Without a word, Duncan rose to his feet and grabbed the beer bottles off the coffee table, briefly wondering how they had managed to stay upright, and then dropped onto the couch beside Methos.

He looked at the two bottles, trying to remember which was his, and then shrugged. “Beer?” he asked softly, holding one of the bottles out to Methos.

Methos considered the warm beer, and then reached out to take it. He lifted his arm and placed it over Duncan’s shoulders. Duncan shifted so that his back was resting against Methos’ side, his head leaning against Methos’ shoulder. Methos placed his hand on Duncan’s chest, his thumb absently stroking him. They sat in companionable silence and finished their beers.

Eventually, Duncan shivered. “Bed?” Methos asked without moving.

“Yeah,” Duncan agreed slowly. He pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out for Methos’. Methos took the proffered hand and allowed Duncan to help him up. They set the empty beer bottles back onto the coffee table, and Duncan pushed Methos’ shirt off his shoulders. He dragged it down his arms and tossed it onto the pile at their feet.

He let his eyes run over the body of the man standing before him. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, as his hands followed the path his eyes had taken.

“Duncan.” Methos’ voice trembled. He’d held his feelings for this man inside for so long, and it felt like a damn had burst, allowing them all out to flood his awareness.

“Methos.” Duncan pulled the other man to him and they held each other tightly, desperately, both afraid to let go.

They eventually made their way to the bed. Duncan turned out the light before sliding beneath the covers to join his lover. His lover. He liked the way that sounded. Methos was lying on his back, and Duncan rolled to his side and rested his head on the other man’s shoulder, his hand tracing patterns on his stomach.

Duncan was almost asleep when Methos’ voice reached him. “I wonder if this hotel has any rooms with king-sized beds.”

He smiled, allowing himself to hope that meant Methos was staying.

***

Willow appeared at the Magic Box at four o’clock in the afternoon the next day. She was hoping to run into Spike, but if he wasn’t there, figured she could get some studying done and take a nap on the couch in the backroom before everyone else arrived. The bell rang as she pushed the front door open.

“Hello, welcome... Oh,” Anya sighed. “Hi, Willow.”

“Hi, Anya.” Willow smiled, knowing Anya’s reaction wasn’t personal, just a result of her desire to make more money. “Hi, Giles,” Willow greeted the Watcher as he stepped through the beaded curtain closing off the backroom.

“Willow, hello. What are you doing here so early? The ritual isn’t until midnight.”

“I know, I just...” Her voice trailed off as Spike stepped through the beaded curtain behind Giles.

“Red,” he smirked.

“Spike.” Willow blushed.

“Ah.” Giles nodded, realizing what brought Willow to the shop this early. He shook his head as he placed the crystal balls he was carrying onto the shelf.

“I’m going to heat up some blood,” Spike was saying. “You want anything?”

“Maybe a, uh, bottle of water,” Willow replied, as she continued into the shop and followed Spike to the kitchen. When she got there, a bottle of water was sitting on the counter and he was pouring a bag of blood into a mug to heat it up in the microwave.

“Thanks.” Willow opened the bottle and took a sip. Her throat suddenly felt very dry.

Spike turned around and leaned against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankle, his arms crossed over his chest.

“So, uh, how are you doing?” Willow asked to fill the silence. “How was patrol?”

“Patrol was quiet. You’re beautiful.”

“Oh, well that’s...huh?” Willow’s eyes widened in surprise.

Spike just smiled. The microwave dinged and he took the mug out. He drank the blood, looking at Willow over the rim of the mug. Her porcelain-white skin was flushed a delicious pink, and he could hear the roar of her blood. It called to him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into her, feel her heat surround him as he sank his fangs into her neck.

He shook his head to clear it of the fantasy, and finished his blood. He rinsed the mug out and placed it in the drainer.

“You need to study or something?” he asked, indicating the bag in her hand.

“Oh, well, uh, no. I mean...I brought homework...in case you weren’t here,” she admitted.

“Ah.” He smiled. “What are your plans then...since I am here?” he asked, and Willow blushed. “Are you going to have your wicked way with me, Red?” Spike continued to tease her, breathing deeply of the scent of her arousal, of the blood coursing through her veins.

“Spike,” Willow protested. “Don’t tease.”

“Why not?” Spike asked. “I like seeing you get all flustered. You blush so prettily.”

“‘Cause.” Willow shook her hair back. “It’s not nice to get a girl all worked up and not satisfy her.” Willow turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, leaving a now-flustered Spike behind.

Spike recovered and followed Willow into the backroom, where she was sitting on the couch, her book bag and shoes on the floor, her feet tucked under her. She was looking expectantly at the doorway when he came through, and was now staring at him.

Spike walked over to the couch and stood gazing down at Willow. They were both silent, each drinking in the sight of the other.

“Wanna sit?” Willow asked shyly.

Spike’s nostrils flared. “Wanna do more than that,” he said.

Willow boldly let her eyes travel down Spike’s body to the erection pressing against his jeans. “Me, too,” she whispered.

“Cor, Willow.” Spike lowered himself to the couch beside her. He placed his arm along the back of the couch behind her head and leaned into her, lowering his face to hers. Willow tilted her head, raising her lips. Just as Spike’s lips touched Willow’s, the beaded curtain was thrown aside, and Duncan and Methos entered the backroom.

“Oh, sorry, are we interrupting?” Duncan asked, as he stopped short.

Chapter Twelve

“No!” Willow squeaked in embarrassment.

“Yes!” Spike growled against her lips.

“Interrupting what?” Methos asked, casually shouldering past Duncan, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Spike!” Willow couldn’t help but giggle at his response.

Spike buried his face in her neck. “Need to shag you soon,” he whispered, and Willow blushed as a fresh wave of arousal flooded her body at his words, and at the breath that tickled her neck. “Bloody hell,” Spike groaned, as the scent filled his nostrils.

“Your own fault,” Willow hissed. “Stop saying things like that!” She slapped his arm.

“Ah.” Methos nodded to himself as he caught sight of Willow and Spike sitting on the couch, nearly wrapped around each other. “Young love,” he said, his voice just this side of mocking. “I’m sure they’ll weather the MacLeod storm just fine.” He wandered about the room, looking at the training equipment.

“Uh, Giles said we could use the training room,” Duncan explained their presence. “Is that all right?”

“Of course!” Willow said, shivering as Spike’s tongue trailed over her neck. “Please.” She waved one hand to encompass the room, and used the other to try and pry Spike’s head out of her neck. “Make yourselves at home.”

Spike muttered to himself as he sat back in resignation and pulled Willow’s legs over his lap to hide his full-blown erection. Willow shifted on the couch to make herself more comfortable, before turning her attention back to the two men who had entered the backroom.

“So, what, uh, what’s up?” she asked curiously, watching Duncan remove his coat and hang it on a hook. Methos pulled his gaze away from the Highlander and glanced over at her.

“Mac’s gonna warm up with a kata, and then we’re going to spar,” he explained.

“I meant, uh, does this mean you’re helping us tonight?” Willow asked. She wasn’t sure yet whether she trusted them. They’d come into town to research demons, and then it turned out they had a bit of fighting experience. And they had secrets they weren’t willing to share with her. Although, it wasn’t like she didn’t have any secrets of her own...but still!

Methos locked eyes with Duncan, and then looked away. “Looks that way,” he sighed. He still had misgivings about this course of action Duncan was intent on pursuing. Mac had managed to convince him that telling these people their secret wouldn’t be the end of the world...they had managed to keep the Slayer’s identity secret, after all. And besides, two of the group already knew they were Immortal.

He’d even persuaded Methos that helping them in the upcoming battle to keep the mouth of Hell closed would be in their best interests. Methos could understand that. It was the rest of it that Methos was having a hard time accepting. He wanted to keep Duncan alive. And he was pretty certain that adding demons to the list of those potentially gunning for Duncan’s head was *not* the best way to accomplish that goal.

“Is it so bad?” Willow asked.

“Which?” Methos asked, his eyes on Duncan as the other man removed his shoes, socks, and sweater, leaving him wearing a dark green t-shirt and a pair of loose gray pants.

“Uh, which which?” Willow asked, confused by his response.

“Is which bad, helping you, or telling you our secret?” Methos clarified.

“Oh, well, I meant helping us. Is it your secret you’re worried about?” Willow asked. “Oh, um, do you, uh, wanna sit, Adam?” she asked politely, as she pointed to the other end of the couch next to Spike.

Methos looked at the couch critically, and then strolled over to join them. He took his coat off, dropped down onto the seat, and slumped into a boneless sprawl, laying the coat over his lap. “It’s his bloody head I’m worried about,” Methos softly replied, as he watched Duncan begin the kata.

“Well, it’s a nice head,” Willow commented, perplexed by the statement. “If you don’t want to help us, or tell us your secret, why does he?” she asked.

Methos was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. Duncan claimed he wanted to give Richie’s death some meaning, fearing that he’d never be able to absolve himself of his culpability in being the instrument of death for his beloved student. *Despite* Methos’ insistence that the best you could hope for was to accept it - your mistakes, your shortcomings - and move on. But, oh no, that wasn’t good enough for Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. And what did it all boil down to, in its simplest form?

“Redemption,” he sighed deeply.

“Oi, not another one,” Spike muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

“Spike,” Willow chastised, lightly knocking her knuckles against his chest.

“What do you mean?” Methos asked the blond.

“We know, uh, someone who is also seeking redemption,” Willow explained before Spike could respond.

“Ah.” Methos nodded. “And how’s that working for him?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Um, well, he’s got a long road ahead of him,” Willow replied, ambiguously.

“Endless, more like,” Methos muttered, his gaze slipping back to the Highlander.

“So, does yours brood, too?” Spike asked.

“Spike!” Willow poked him again.

“What?” Methos pulled his attention back to the conversation.

“In our experience, it seems that you can’t seek redemption unless you can work up a proper brood. And Angel, the redemption-seeker in question, is the king of brood. Just wondered if your redemption-seeking git broods too,” Spike replied with a smirk as he grabbed Willow’s hands to keep her from slapping him again.

Methos smiled to himself as he watched Duncan perform his exercise, his eyes following the other man’s every move as he worked through the forms. “Often,” he replied softly, almost reverently.

“So, uh, if you don’t want to help us, or tell us your secret...why are you?” Willow asked.

“Because he is,” Methos rolled his eyes. “Can’t leave him alone for one bloody minute or he’d be getting himself into some sort of trouble.”

“I’m right here,” Duncan muttered, after a particularly powerful hiss and stab. Methos didn’t change expression, but small crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.

“How long have you been friends?” Willow asked.

“About five years...on and off,” Methos replied softly, his focus still on Duncan.

Spike gave Methos a considering look, and then looked over at the man practicing in the middle of the training room. Something about the two men seemed...slightly off. “Something happen last night?” Spike asked.

“Excuse me?” Methos turned towards Spike, his face a blank mask.

“Did you run into trouble or anything?” Spike pressed, still trying to put his finger on the difference he sensed.

“Oh, yeah, four vampires in one of the older cemeteries,” Methos nodded. “Dusted.”

“Were you hurt?” Willow asked worriedly.

“Scratch,” Methos admitted. “Nothing much. All healed now.”

Willow just stared at him. “Even scratches don’t heal that quickly,” she said softly.

“Mine do.” Methos cocked an eyebrow and gave a self-deprecating smirk. “Looks like Mac’s almost ready,” he changed the subject, leaned forward and untied his boots, removing them and his socks. He stood, laid his coat on the couch, and pulled the Henley over his head.

“What is he to you?” Willow whispered to herself, as she also sensed a new...tension in the air. A heightened awareness.

When his head cleared the shirt, Methos glanced over at Duncan to see the other man staring at him. Methos smiled; a little quirk at the corner of his lips that you might have missed if you didn’t know him, and ran his fingers through his hair as he dropped the shirt onto the couch and picked up his coat. *My* redemption, he thought to himself.

Duncan removed his own sweat-soaked t-shirt and used the dry material at the hem to wipe the sweat off his face and neck, and then dragged the shirt over his chest and stomach. His eyes locked on Methos’, he tossed the shirt beside his sweater and picked up his coat.

Spike grinned as he caught the increased pheromones permeating the air. Something had changed, all right.

“What?” Willow whispered, noticing his smile.

Spike just tilted his head, without taking his eyes off the two men, indicating that Willow should watch them. With a frown of confused concentration, Willow turned her attention back to Duncan and Methos.

As one, both men pulled their swords out of the sheaths hidden in the lining of their coats. Willow squeaked and jumped at the hiss of steel. They dropped their coats and moved to stand in the middle of the floor, bowed their heads to each other and with small, knowing smiles, began their practice.

The clang of metal against metal, panting breaths, and bare feet whispering across the mats were the only sounds to be heard as they struck and parried, dodged and blocked, their moves smooth, fluid, graceful, resembling not so much a fight, as a dance. Their chests shone with sweat, their muscles clenched and bunched, and small rivulets of blood ran where a sword point had nicked. Willow watched entranced as the cuts healed before her eyes.

***

“H-how did you do that?” Willow asked, when the two men finally stopped sparring. Spike said nothing, just rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Uh, towels,” she interrupted herself and pointed to the shelf in the corner where the large sink stood, as a drop of sweat ran down Methos’ nose and dripped off the tip.

Methos walked over to the shelf and grabbed a folded white cotton towel, and then paused. “This work?” he asked of the sink.

“Uh, yeah,” Willow replied, nodding her head, her mind still on the healed cuts.

He tossed the towel towards Duncan, and then turned on the taps. He checked the water temperature, and ducked his head beneath the stream of water, letting it sluice the sweat off his face and neck, and wet his hair.

Duncan wiped the sweat off his face and neck, and then pulled the towel through his hair, watching Methos’ butt as the other man bent over the sink. Methos stood up and threw his head back, showering Duncan with water.

Duncan sputtered as water droplets splashed his face, and then wiped them off as Methos turned to grin at him. “Sorry,” the older man lied, as he reached for a towel. “Didn’t know you were there.”

“You’re full of...it,” Duncan replied, stepping up to the sink to wet the towel he held. He wiped off his chest and arms. Methos took the towel out of his hands and wiped down his back. When he was done, Duncan rinsed out the towel and returned the favor.

He looked up to see Willow’s wide green eyes following his every move as she finally realized what Spike had noticed earlier. His eyes switched to the blond, who was staring at him with a wide grin splitting his face. He wondered if it was too late to pretend they were just friends...and then wondered why he’d even want to. They’d never been ‘just friends’, anyway.

With a wink at Willow, Duncan lowered his head and kissed the back of Methos’ shoulder. Methos jerked his head up in surprise, as a faint blush suffused his normally pale skin. He wasn’t a man easily prone to shock, but Duncan had managed to do it twice now. As if last night hadn’t been enough, now the other man was actually kissing him in front of people!

His eyes caught and held the eyes of their audience. Spike was smirking, trying not to laugh out loud at the expression on Methos’ face. Willow was grinning at him, but her face was redder than his was. He hoped.

Methos turned around and grabbed the towel out of Duncan’s hand, and tossed it into the sink. He took the younger man’s face between his hands and pulled him down for a kiss. Duncan resisted for a moment, and then relaxed against Methos, his hands coming up to grip the other man’s shoulders as he parted his lips to Methos’ clever tongue.

“Oh...my,” Willow moaned, as she watched to the two half-naked men kiss. She’d never imagined that she would ever witness such a display, much less find it...arousing. Spike grabbed her chin and pulled her face around to his, taking in her dilated pupils, her ragged breathing, and her increased heart rate.

“Ah, Red,” he groaned, and covered her lips with his own. Willow wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself onto his lap. Spike pulled her close with one arm as the other cradled the back of her head.

Chapter Thirteen

The beads jangled and both couples guiltily jumped apart. “Willow,” Anya said as she slipped through the beaded curtain. “Buffy called. She’s going to take a nap and then do a quick patrol after the sun goes down, before she meets us here at ten.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Willow replied breathlessly, trying to casually wipe her mouth with the back of one hand while she pushed Spike’s hand out of the back of her shirt with the other.

Duncan and Methos leapt for their shirts; Methos pulling on the Henley and Duncan his sweater. Duncan extracted the same cloth from last night out of his coat pocket and wiped his sword down before slipping it into the hidden sheath in his coat lining. He’d have to clean it later, when they got back to the room where he’d left the kit. He handed the cloth to Methos who wiped his own sword down and sheathed it.

“Giles is going to go home for something to eat and to rest before the upcoming battle,” Anya continued. Willow handed Methos the nearly-full water bottle that was resting on the bag at her feet when he looked at it longingly. He tipped it back and drained it with several large swallows.

“And I’m going home to meet Xander for some orgasms, in case we all die tonight,” Anya finished chirpily. Methos choked on the water, spitting it across the training room. “Bye!” Anya waved and left the room.

“Did she just say what I thought she said?” Methos coughed, wiping the water off his chin. Duncan grabbed a towel and wiped up the spilt water from the floor, and then looked at Methos worriedly. “Don’t worry, MacLeod, I won’t die,” he chided his friend... and lover. Duncan just shook his head.

“Uh, yeah.” Willow blushed again. “She, uh, yeah.” She nodded.

“Maybe we should head back to the hotel,” Duncan proposed, as he pulled his socks on and slipped into his shoes. “Getting something to eat and some rest in before tonight sounds like a good idea.” He looked at Methos suggestively.

“I’m kinda hungry, too. We can show you a good restaur... Oh, never mind.” Willow blushed a deeper crimson. “You didn’t really... I, uh, I gotta go...somewhere.” She jumped off Spike’s lap and ran out of the room. She ducked into the kitchen and tucked herself into a corner.

How could she be so stupid! She was mortified. She covered her face with her hands and prayed that they would just leave without giving her the opportunity to embarrass herself further.

“Red?” Spike’s voice sounded awfully close.

“What?” she groaned through her hands.

“You all right, luv?” he asked.

“No! I’m an idiot,” she moaned.

“You’re not an idiot.” Spike pulled her hands away from her face and tugged her against him.

“Yes I am! I’m stupid and I can’t do anything right!” She bounced her forehead off Spike’s chest as she slipped her fingers through the belt loops at his waist.

“Bollocks!” Spike said brusquely. “One, you’re just feeling some pressure because of tonight. But you’re gonna do fine, Red. You always do,” he tried to reassure her.

“Whatever. What’s two?” she asked with a little pout.

“Two?” Spike asked, confused. The feel of her warm body pressed against his was doing all sorts of interesting things to him.

“You said ‘one’, so what’s two?” Willow spoke into his chest.

“Oh, uh, the other reason you’re feeling, uh, out of sorts, is the hormones running through your body.” His hands slipped down to her ass and pressed her against him. “Lust unsated can be very, uh, distracting.”

“What do we do about that?” Willow asked. Spike stiffened. “The, uh, distraction part, I mean,” she clarified.

“Given more time and fewer clothes I’d show you what we should do about it,” Spike whispered in her ear, making Willow shiver. “As it stands, we’re going to have to live with it until B’az is history. Unless you want to skip dinner...”

“Is she all right?” Duncan asked. He leaned against the doorframe, his coat hung over his arm. Methos slipped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. He had his coat on, his hands once again stuffed into his pockets.

“No,” Willow pouted at the same time Spike said, “Yes.”

“Would it make you feel any better if I kissed him again?” Methos asked. Duncan looked at him in surprise, but Methos just smiled, and it was Duncan’s turn to roll his eyes at the older Immortal.

Willow opened one eye and tilted her chin up so that she could peer at Duncan and Methos over Spike’s shoulder. “May-be,” she replied.

Methos laughed. “You know,” he said. “We really do need to get something to eat before heading back to the hotel. We’d be honored if you’d join us.”

“You’re just saying that.” Willow’s eye disappeared as she buried her head back in Spike’s chest. “I’m too embarrassed to eat. You go on. I think I’ll just stay here and dig a hole so I can bury my head.”

“Piffle!” Spike tightened his grip on Willow’s butt, picked her up and carried her out of the kitchen. “You need something to eat so you can keep your strength up for tonight.”

“Spike!” Willow squealed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you out for something to eat,” he replied.

“No, wait! My bag!” Willow protested.

“We’ll be back. You won’t need it during dinner,” Spike brushed her protests off.

“Spike, wait!” Willow cried, grabbing hold of the railing as they walked up the steps to the front door.

“What now?” Spike asked as he allowed her to pull them to a halt, not wanting to rip her arm out.

“Uh, shoes,” Willow whispered.

“What?”

“I need my shoes,” Willow said a little bit louder.

Spike tilted his head to the side and Willow bent her leg and lifted her foot so he could see that it was covered in a white sock. “Are shoes absolutely necessary?” he asked.

Willow smiled. “Yes,” she replied. “Some places won’t even let you in without shoes,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Well, bugger!” He turned around and carried her back down the steps. “All right, go get your shoes on,” he said, as he set her down on her feet and Willow scurried into the backroom. “Two minutes, Red!” he called after her, as he grabbed his leather duster off the chair he’d thrown it over earlier and swung it on.

Willow slipped her shoes on and grabbed her jacket. She checked her pockets to make sure she had money, ID, and keys to get back in the shop. She pulled her jacket on as she stepped through the beaded curtain.

“I’d kill for a beer right now,” Methos was moaning to Duncan.

“Are you still thirsty?” Willow asked, only blushing slightly when both men turned their full attention on her.

“Parched,” Methos smiled at her.

“There’s, uh, more water in the fridge,” Willow said. “If you want water, that is.”

“I’d love one,” Duncan smiled.

“Me, too,” Methos added with a smile of his own.

“You have to stop doing that,” Willow practically whimpered, as she slipped into the kitchen and grabbed two water bottles out of the fridge.

“Stop doing what?” Duncan asked, as Willow handed him one of the bottles.

“Smiling,” she said, handed Methos the second bottle, and walked past Spike towards the front door. “They’re lethal.”

“Pretty smiles turn her on,” Spike said with a smirk, as he turned to follow her, the scent of Willow’s arousal wafting behind her.

“Spike!” Willow protested.

Duncan and Methos just looked at each other, wondering what they’d gotten themselves into.

“You wankers coming, or what?” Spike asked, the smirk still adorning his face as he held the door open.

Duncan and Methos strode out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. They opened their bottles of water and gulped half down at one go while Willow locked the front door.

“Don’t mind Spike. He only gives nicknames to people he likes,” Willow said as she started down the sidewalk ahead of them.

“Willow!” Spike whined.

***

Five minutes later, Willow led them into an Italian restaurant the Scoobies frequented. The tables were covered with red and white checked tablecloths and candles were stuck in the tops of jars. A jukebox near the kitchen played a variety of old and new tunes.

“Hi, Jane!” Willow called to one of the waitresses, a tall brunette who was obviously pregnant, and then conducted an entire conversation with the other woman wholly through hand motions. When they were done, Willow escorted them to a booth in the back corner.

“What was that all about?” Duncan asked, as he slid into the booth across from Willow.

“What? Oh, that!” She blushed at the attention. “Just making sure our table was free. We, uh, come here a lot,” she explained further at Duncan’s confused expression. “Spike doesn’t, uh, like garlic, so we sit as far away from the kitchen as we can, and this has sorta become our unofficial table.”

“You come to an Italian restaurant, but you don’t like garlic?” Methos teased, as he settled himself beside Duncan.

“Allergy.” Spike winked at Willow, as he took his duster off and hung it on the hooks beside the booth before sitting next to her.

The waitress came around and handed them menus, chatted for a minute, and took their drink order. After she left, Spike leaned back in the seat and drummed his fingers against the table top. He needed a cigarette. He tried to remember how long it had been since he’d had one.

Without lifting her head, Willow covered his hand with hers, silencing his fingers. Spike stared at her hand, and then turned his over so that he could twine his fingers with hers. He looked up to see Methos smirking at him over the top of the menu.

“Shut up, tosser,” Spike growled, glad vampires didn’t blush.

“What are you having?” Willow asked, as she closed her menu.

“Not very hungry, luv. I’ll just have some of yours,” Spike replied.

“Oh, no you don’t, mister!” Willow shook her head. “You say that every time. And every time you eat over half of it!”

“That’s just ‘cause I know you won’t finish it.” Spike grinned. “Don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Yeah, right!” Willow responded just as Jane returned with their drinks. After a few minutes of casual conversation, she took their food order and whisked the menus away. When they were left alone, Willow searched for something to say. “So how do you like Sunnydale?” she asked.

Both men stared at her, wondering what they could say about a town they’d barely had a chance to explore, but that boasted a Hellmouth and hundreds of demons. Spike laughed at their inability to find the words.

“What?” Willow asked.

“It sits on a Hellmouth, luv.” Spike squeezed her hand. “Not like they came to see the sites, like the sunken church and the blown-up high school. Though, hey, they will get to see that one,” Spike said, and then sipped his beer.

“Well, its got other stuff. Like, uh, houses, and shops, and a university, and The Bronze...”

“Oh, yeah!” Methos grabbed onto that. “We were at The Bronze the other night. I was really hoping to be able to try a beer from a, uh, local brewery,” he said. “They didn’t seem to have anything like that.” He sounded disappointed, and stared at the label on the bottle he held in his hand.

“Nah, you need to go to Willy’s to get that,” Spike said offhandedly.

“Willy’s?” Duncan asked.

“Demon bar,” Spike explained. “Just stay away from the Yak urine. They claim it’s a delicacy, but that stuff’s disgustin’!”

The sip of beer Methos had just swallowed shot out of his nose and mouth. “Oh, gods,” he coughed, as he cleaned himself up with napkins Willow handed him. “That stings.”

“Are you all right?” Duncan pounded on his back.

“He does that an awful lot,” Spike muttered.

“Knock it off, MacLeod!” Methos twisted away and slapped at his hands. “You trying to knock my lungs out?”

“Would it shut you up?” Duncan asked softly.

“Ha, ha! Jesus.” Methos took a tentative sip of the beer. “I thought you were joking about the Yak urine.” He made it sound like an accusation.

“Would I do that?” Duncan asked innocently.

Chapter Fourteen

“So, you two,” Methos tried to change the subject. “Been together long?”

“Never,” Willow muttered, with a deep sigh. “And we better not die tonight or I’ll kill Anya for jinxing us.” Spike froze, the bottle of beer halfway to his mouth. Willow closed her eyes as silence descended over the table. “Did I, uh, just say that out loud?” she asked.

“No!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Say what?”

“Oh, Goddess,” she groaned, a fresh wave of blood suffusing her skin. “Please let me go dig that hole,” she begged, as she leaned her head against Spike’s arm. “Better yet, you go dig it for me, you’ve got vam-, uh, v-very much more strength than me.” She caught herself. “Big strong man. Jane!” she cried out, as the waitress approached their table with a tray of food. “Thank the Goddess you’re here!”

“Have you been babbling again?” Jane asked with an indulgent smile, as she handed out three plates filled with pasta stuffed with various cheeses and meats and covered in red and white sauces.

“Worse,” Willow moaned.

Jane just laughed as she placed an empty plate in front of Spike. “Can I get you refills on your drinks?”

“Got any Yak urine?” Methos asked, picking up his knife and fork.

“Oh, God!” Jane screwed up her face. “Don’t tell me you let Spike take you to Willy’s and you actually *drank* that stuff? Ugh!” She shivered. “That stuff’s disgusting.” She picked up her tray and walked away, leaving everyone giggling except Methos.

“Does everyone know about Yak urine *except* me?” he asked.

“You know now.” Willow tried to make him feel better.

“You knew about Yak butter,” Duncan tried to say with a straight face.

“You guys are a laugh a minute,” he groused, as he cut into his pasta.

***

After they finished eating, and the plates were cleared away, they ordered coffee.

“Decaf for the witch,” Spike reminded Jane. After she left the table, Duncan looked between Willow and Spike.

“You, uh, don’t mind him calling you ‘witch’?” he asked Willow. The term seemed to be one of endearment, but it was strange enough for him to comment on.

“Oh, no!” Willow smiled. “I am a witch. Wiccan, to be exact.”

“Yep, my little Jewish Wiccan.” Spike put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her against him.

“Watch it, buster.” Willow poked him playfully in the ribs. “Anyway, that’s my big secret.” She shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Unless you don’t like witches.” She noticed the glance the two men shared. “Oh, Goddess, you don’t like witches!” Willow’s eyes got big.

“Uh, no, Willow.” Duncan laid his hand over hers on the table. “Just one witch, sort of, who’s given us a bit of trouble in the past.”

“You don’t want to burn us all at the stake, do you?” she asked, memories of the time her mother and the other good parents of Sunnydale had been possessed by demons and tried to burn her, Buffy, and Amy at the stake ran through her mind.

“Gods no! No,” Methos replied firmly. “Honestly, Willow. We have nothing against you personally, or even witches in general. Like Mac said, just one particular witch. Well.” He shrugged and smiled. “Unless you turn us into rats or something.”

Willow pounded her little fist on the table. “That was not my fault!” she insisted. “I did *not* turn her into a rat! I just can’t turn her back.”

“Uh, luv,” Spike tried to calm her down. “They don’t even know Amy.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Willow seemed to be mollified, but then she looked up at them. “You, uh, don’t know Amy, do you?”

“No!” both men denied, shaking their heads ‘no’. “But I sense a story,” Methos added.

“It’s not a happy story,” Willow grumbled.

“Just give ‘em the short version, Red,” Spike encouraged.

“The short version?” she looked at him as if he were nuts. “You know I don’t do short versions. I get babbling and my short version ends up longer than the long version!”

“Right! I’ll tell ‘em, shall I? Okay, Amy. Bint turned herself into a rat and Willow can’t figure out how to turn her back human again. How’s that?” He looked down at Willow.

“Short,” Willow replied. “I never would have been able to do that.” Her lips curved into a small smile.

Methos and Duncan stared at the two of them as if they were *both* nuts. Willow turned that smile on them, combined with innocent green eyes, and they couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“So, rat,” Methos said.

“Yeah, but I bought her a nice big cage with a wheel and everything,” Willow said, smiling at Jane, as the waitress returned and unloaded their coffees.

***

“So, you’re a witch,” Duncan mused after taking a sip of coffee. “I suppose you have a secret, too?” He looked at Spike.

“Don’t we all?” Spike sneered.

“Are we sharing now?” Methos asked wryly.

“I don’t see why not,” Duncan replied. “We know Willow’s secret, Spike already knows our secret, and in a couple of hours, the rest of them will, too. No sense keeping it a, uh, secret anymore, is there?”

“No, I don’t suppose there is. Except for the fact that it’s not very private here,” Methos cautioned.

“Oh, I can fix that!” Before Spike could stop her, Willow mumbled a few words under her breath. “There, no one will be able to hear us now.”

“Are you bloody nuts?” Spike exploded. “You’re supposed to be working some big mojo tonight and you waste your strength on a soddin’...” He struggled to find the word he wanted. “...*privacy* spell!”

Willow narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you yell at me! It was a simple spell, and I’m fine. Besides, after we’re done here we’ll go back to the shop for a nap before everyone gets there at ten, and I’ll be *fine*, Spike. I will.”

Spike didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “*Fine*!” he snarled, and then looked at Duncan and Methos. “I’m a...”

“No!” Willow cried, slapping her hand over Spike’s mouth.

“What are you doing? I thought we were sharing?” Spike’s voice was muffled behind Willow’s hand.

“Them first,” she said.

“What bloody difference does it make?” he asked, pulling her hand away from his mouth.

“Because they came here to get information on demons, and we don’t know why they wanted it, and I don’t want them to jump to conclusions when you just...spit it out like that! That’s why.”

“I already know their secret, Red. It’s not like they’re rogue demon hunters or anything,” Spike tried to placate her.

“Them first.” She remained adamant, worried about what they might do to Spike if his secret frightened them. They carried swords, after all.

“That’s all right.” Duncan broke the stalemate. “I don’t mind going first. As I said, Spike already knows our secret anyway, and now we know yours.” Duncan took a deep breath. “We’re Immortal.”

Willow stared at him with her mouth hanging open. “Oh,” she said. “Spike’s a vampire. He’s got a chip and can’t hurt humans. Is that why you healed so fast?”

Spike rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. Methos tried unsuccessfully to stifle a grin.

“Shut up, pillock,” Spike growled.

“Are you sure he gives nicknames to people he likes?” Methos asked.

“Yeah,” Willow replied distractedly. “Immortal?”

“Yeah,” Duncan nodded. “Vampire?” he indicated Spike.

“Yeah,” Spike spoke for himself.

“Vampires, and Witches, and Immortals, oh, my!” Methos said.

***

“Did you have to tell them about the soddin’ chip?” Spike growled, as they tried to get comfortable on the couch in the backroom of the Magic Box. Spike was lying with his back against the back of the couch, and Willow was spooned in front of him, her head resting on his arm.

“Yes,” Willow insisted for the tenth time. “What if there are humans in this force the Pan’kr bring with them? You won’t be able to defend yourself against them. They needed to know that.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Spike grumbled, knowing she was right, but hating it. Hating the bleedin’ chip that made him less of a demon.

Willow moved around as she tried to get comfortable, and her butt rubbed against his groin. He’d been semi-erect most of the afternoon, the scent and feel of Willow filling him with desire. He breathed deeply, and let the scent of her fill his nostrils again. She smelled sweet and spicy, like vanilla and cinnamon.

“Spike?” Willow choked his name out as she felt him harden behind her. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to not have feelings for Spike, to not want him, and the tension coiled in her belly had been building all day. For the past three days, actually; since the night she’d licked his neck when he carried her to her dorm.

“Yeah, luv?” he asked, his hand sliding beneath her shirt to tickle her belly. He almost groaned as her heartbeat sped up, her breath quickened.

“Should we, uh, oh, Goddess!” she moaned, as his hand slid up to cup her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple to a hard nub.

“Should we what?” he teased, as his hand moved back down her belly to the waistband of her jeans. Willow let out a wordless keen of anticipation as he unbuttoned and unzipped them.

“Should we do *this*?” Her voice rose on the last word as Spike slid his fingers beneath her panties, his other hand dipping into her shirt from the top and slipping beneath her bra.

“Oh, yes, luv,” he said, his unnecessary breath coming in heaving pants as his fingers simultaneously tweaked her nipple and eased between her slick folds. “We most definitely should do this.”

“Oh...Goddess!” she cried, reaching behind her to grip his hip, pressing herself back against him, coaxing his finger deeper. “Spike, please!”

“Want more, luv?” he growled, the scent of her arousal perfuming the air.

“Yes, Spike...oh!” she cried, as he slid a second finger inside her, and then closed his mouth on the sensitive skin of her neck, and sucked.

***

“What was that all about?” Duncan pushed Methos up against the door to their hotel room as soon as it closed behind them, his hands slipping beneath Methos’ coat, his palms flat against the other man’s chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, MacLeod,” Methos replied, his heart beating a staccato inside his chest as Duncan manhandled him.

“Your hand,” Duncan growled. “On my thigh. Cupping my groin. All through dinner.” He gave an additional push against Methos’ chest, and then let his hands slide down the other man’s stomach.

“Oh. That.” Methos smirked as Duncan pulled his shirt out of his jeans and slid warm hands back up to his chest, thumbs caressing his nipples to hard disks.

“Yes. That.” Duncan lowered his head and licked Methos’ neck. “Did you think that was funny?” he asked, and closed his teeth over the spot he’d just sensitized with his tongue.

“No,” Methos groaned, his hands coming up to grab Duncan’s hips. “But I thought it could be fun,” he purred.

“Christ, Methos,” Duncan groaned, as he dragged his lips over the soft skin of Methos’ neck, and jaw, and cheek, until he encountered his lips. He licked Methos’ lips, like a kitten with a saucer of milk, and then slipped his tongue between them.

Methos slid his hands around Duncan’s hips and cupped his ass, pulling him closer, as he parted his lips and let him in.

Chapter Fifteen

When Duncan and Methos arrived at the Magic Box at ten o’clock, everyone else was already gathered around the table.

“Hi!” Willow chirped and waved at them as they removed their coats and laid them over the counter.

“Hi, Willow,” Duncan smiled at her. “Everyone.”

“Looks like *you* got plenty of rest,” Methos grumbled.

Willow blushed. “Enough,” she replied.

Spike snorted into the mug of blood he was sipping from. “And you, did you two get plenty?” he asked when he put the mug down. “Rest, I mean,” he sneered.

“Enough,” Duncan replied, an uncharacteristic smirk playing around his lips.

“Speak for yourself, Highlander,” Methos complained. “He snores,” he added, at the curious looks directed their way. “Is that caffeine?” Methos nodded his head towards Spike’s mug hopefully.

“Uh, no,” Spike said. “O-neg. There’s another packet in the fridge if you want one,” he smirked.

“Blood?” Methos asked, disgust evident in his voice.

“Hello, vampire,” Spike reminded him, rolling his eyes.

“Try watching him dunk his pizza in it!” Xander shuddered.

“Sod off, tosser!” Spike replied automatically.

“Oh, yeah, right.” Methos nodded, and turned to Willow, who was holding a Styrofoam cup. “He likes him, right?” He indicated Spike and Xander.

“Oh, sure.” Willow nodded seriously.

“Do not,” Spike muttered.

“Is *that* caffeine?” Methos asked pitifully.

“Yes!” she giggled. “Want some?” she asked mercifully.

“Yes, please!” Methos took the cup from her and took a sip. It had cream in it, but he didn’t care. “Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to have caffeine!” he suddenly remembered.

“I’m not!” Willow giggled at the same time Buffy said, “She’s not!”

“I swear, I’m gonna tear that yahoo’s lungs out next time he gives her caffeine just ‘cause she smiles pretty at him,” Spike growled.

“I’ll smile pretty at you, Spike,” Willow cooed, as she leaned against him.

“I think I’m gonna hurl,” Xander said.

“Put a sock in it,” Spike muttered distractedly, his thoughts on Willow.

“If you’re quite through, can we get to work now?” Giles asked the assembled group.

“Sure, Giles,” Buffy smiled at her Watcher, pulling her eyes off Duncan.

“Sure thing, G-man!” Xander gave a salute. Giles just rolled his eyes.

“Sorry, Giles.” Willow bit her lip to stop from giggling. She probably shouldn’t have gotten the caffeinated coffee, but she wanted to be awake for the battle. And the other side effects would have worn off by then. Hopefully.

“Very well,” Giles said. “May I presume that some of us have already shared our secrets?” He looked at Willow and Spike. Willow blushed at the scrutiny.

“Uh, yeah?” She tried to smile. “We were at dinner and, uh, it just came up!”

“It just came up?” Giles repeated, skeptically.

“Sort of,” Willow replied. “You know how Spike is always calling me ‘witch’?” she asked.

“And they wanted to know why?” Giles guessed.

“Yeah.” Willow gave an apologetic little shrug.

“All right, I can see how that might have ‘just come up’, but how did Spike being a vampire ‘just come up’?” he asked.

“Oh, well, uh...” Willow looked up at Duncan and Methos for help. Duncan was fascinated by his nails, and Methos was engrossed in the books on one of the bookshelves. Willow wrinkled her nose at them before continuing. “We sort of figured that since they knew my secret, and Spike knew their secret, that...”

“Wait!” Buffy cried. “*Spike* knew their secret? How come Spike got to know their secret?”

“Not now, Buffy.” Giles patted her arm absently.

“Why am I always the last one to know stuff?” Buffy asked rhetorically.

“I don’t know stuff.” Xander raised his hand.

Spike snorted, and Xander screwed his face up.

“Me neither,” Anya added.

“Great,” Buffy muttered.

“You were saying, Willow?” Giles encouraged a return to the subject at hand.

“Uh, where was I?” she asked.

“They knew your secret, I knew their secret,” Spike summarized.

“Oh, right! So we decided to, you know, go all the way.” Willow blushed as she realized what she’s said. “I mean, tell the rest of the secrets to the ones of us who didn’t know the, uh, secrets,” she said. “I think. Was that right?” she whispered to Spike.

“Close enough, luv,” Spike assured her. “Now, about that going all the way,” he whispered in her ear. Willow poked him in the side with her elbow and blushed a deeper crimson.

“Fine.” Giles shook his head, and looked up at Duncan and Methos. “So, you now know that Buffy is the Slayer, I am her Watcher, Willow is a witch, and Spike is a vampire. Perhaps it’s time for everyone here, who doesn’t already know, to learn your secret.”

“Can I tell? Can I?” Willow bounced in her seat.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Willow,” Giles replied. “They, er, will probably be able to explain it, uh, better.”

“Fine,” Willow pouted.

Methos, remembering how Willow had forbidden Spike to tell them he was a vampire, and then just blurted it out after she found out they were Immortal, smiled to himself at her reaction. He looked up when he felt Duncan’s eyes on him.

“The floor’s all yours, Highlander.” Methos leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

Duncan took a deep breath. “We’re Immortal,” he said, and then paused to give them a chance to assimilate this new information.

“Huh?” Xander replied, his eyes wide.

“What’s that?” Buffy thought she must have heard wrong.

“Wow!” Anya responded. “Really? I’ve heard about Immortals, but I never had a chance to meet one. Well, that I ever knew about. Hey, can you imagine if I granted a vengeance wish against an Immortal? Talk about the rest of your life!”

“And they can heal really fast!” Willow jumped in excitedly.

Giles sighed and shook his head at the rate secrets were being thrown about. “Yes, and Anya’s an ex-vengeance demon,” he added, wishing he still had a bottle of scotch in the shop.

Methos and Duncan both stared at Anya. She waved her fingers at them.

“Emphasis on the word ‘ex’,” she added. “I’m a productive member of society now. Right, honey?” She elbowed Xander in the side.

“Absolutely, An!” Xander quickly agreed.

“And they can heal really fast!” Willow said again, when everyone ignored her.

“Yes, we can,” Methos agreed, with a smile for the redhead. “We can be hurt or killed, but we will heal, and we will revive, though it will take a few minutes, or more, depending on the damage. There is only one way to bring us our final death.” He paused. He and Duncan had discussed the wisdom of telling these people how to kill them, but decided that the safety of the surviving Immortal was worth the risk.

“And that is by decapitation,” Duncan continued the explanation. “We won’t recover from that. If that happens, the survivor will be defenseless for...a while.” The recovery time for each Quickening was different. Methos taking his 400 year old Quickening might recover much faster than Duncan taking a 5000 year old Quickening. “It could be several minutes; it might be much longer.”

Silence blanketed the room.

“Wow.” Buffy was the first to break the silence. She felt like she had just been punched in the gut. Finding out that Immortals existed was like...wow.

“Ditto,” Xander said.

“So, how old are you?” Anya asked. “‘Cause you’ve held up well.”

“I am over 400 years old,” Duncan replied. “Adam is...older.”

“Wow,” Buffy repeated.

“I’m over 1000,” Anya said. Everyone turned to look at her. “In case anyone cares.”

Methos looked around the group sitting at the table. The Slayer, the Watcher, the witch, the vampire, and an ex-vengeance demon. “What about you?” he asked Xander. “Any secrets you want to share?”

“Who me? No, no secrets!” Xander replied.

“He was turned into a soldier one Halloween,” Spike said.

“He was possessed by an evil hyena spirit,” Willow added.

“He was almost eaten by a giant praying mantis,” Buffy said.

“There was the time...”

“All right!” Xander held out both hands to stop them. “I think they meant *relevant* secrets.”

“Well, the soldier thing is relevant,” Spike muttered.

“How so?” Methos asked. He didn’t know whether to be amused that this group of individuals who were going to be fighting to save the world in less than two hours could still joke, or to be frightened. Very, very frightened.

“I, sort of, retained some of the knowledge of the soldier. How to use weapons, tactical, and...other stuff,” Xander said.

“Useful,” Methos replied.

“It’s come in handy,” Xander said, remembering the Judge.

“So.” Duncan took a deep breath. “How did a vampire and an ex-vengeance demon end up helping the Slayer?”

“It’s a long story...,” Giles began.

“Chipped by the soddin’ soldier-boys, couldn’t bloody feed,” Spike muttered.

“Giles, another Giles, from a different reality, stole my power source, I became human,” Anya shrugged.

“...or not.”

“So, vengeance demon.” Methos seated himself next to Anya. “What was that like?”

“It was a great gig! I granted wishes to scorned women. There was this one time, this woman’s husband had...”

“Perhaps we can discuss the perks of being a vengeance demon *after* we’ve reviewed our plan of attack,” Giles interrupted her.

“Of course,” Duncan said, trying to smooth things over.

“Hold that thought,” Methos whispered.

Everyone turned their attention to Giles and he filled the two newcomers in on their battle plan. When he was finished, it was decided that Duncan would assist Buffy to eliminate the Host, while Methos would help the others fight the demon forces expected to be rallied against them.

“Why don’t we gather our weapons now?” Giles suggested. “We have a weapons trunk in the back,” he explained to the two men. “You’re welcome to help yourselves to any of the weapons available.”

“Thanks, but we have our swords,” Duncan replied.

“And a wicked-looking dagger!” Buffy added. “Very cool.”

Duncan sat next to Methos as the others vacated their seats to load up on weapons and to double-check magical supplies. He crossed one leg over the other and straightened his pants leg. Methos studied him, and could tell there was something on his mind.

“You all right?” He nudged the younger man with his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Duncan nodded without looking at Methos, and then lifted his head, piercing Methos with dark brown eyes. “You’ll be careful, right?” He was having second thoughts about embroiling Methos in this.

“Always, Highlander. You too.” Methos squeezed Duncan’s leg.

Duncan nodded. Both men looked up as Buffy approached. She placed two wooden stakes on the table in front of them.

“Just in case.”

Chapter Sixteen

At eleven-thirty, the Scoobies and the two Immortals stood outside the burnt-out husk of the former Sunnydale High School. It was eerily quiet.

“What happened here?” Duncan asked, horrified, as he and Methos took in the remains of the school, wondering what horrible catastrophe could have struck, destroying it so thoroughly.

“We blew it up!” Willow explained, still too high on the caffeine to be worried about the spell she had thirty minutes to set up for and perform.

“You blew up your high school?” Duncan turned to her in disbelief.

“Yep.” She nodded proudly. “On Graduation Day.”

“You blew up your high school on Graduation Day,” Methos spoke slowly, as if that would help him understand.

“Not for fun,” Giles interjected. “It was the only way to stop the Mayor from ascending.”

“Becoming a big demony-snake-thing and ruling the world, or our little part of it, anyway,” Buffy added, at their still-confused looks.

“It was the next logical step,” Xander commented. “After Buffy burned down the gym at her old school.”

“Xander!” Buffy stomped her foot. “It was full of vampires,” she explained to the other two. “I had no choice. Really!”

“Why is it so quiet?” Anya asked. “I thought there were supposed to be all these demons we had to fight. Even if they’re inside, shouldn’t we be able to hear them?”

“Good question,” Giles said. “Spike, Buffy.” He turned to the two stealthiest members of the group. “Check and see if B’az and the Host are inside. And see how many followers they’ve brought with them. No sense setting up here if it turns out we’re going to have to move.”

Spike and Buffy ran silently up to the school and disappeared in the shadows. Willow stared at the place where they had disappeared from sight, praying to the Goddess that they would both be all right. Worrying about Spike getting hurt during one of their battles, or on patrol, was nothing new to her, but being able to worry publicly was, and it seemed harder now that she didn’t have to keep it all inside.

And then Anya, who was holding her trusty baseball bat in one hand, reached out and took Willow’s hand. Willow looked over at the other girl, who gave her a reassuring smile, and then squeezed her hand in gratitude as they waited for Buffy and Spike to return.

***

Duncan glanced over at Methos, who was leaning against a tree, one knee bent with his foot propped against the bark, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, his eyes on what was left of the school. Duncan walked over and stood in front of him. Methos slowly moved his eyes from the school to Duncan’s face.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Duncan said softly. The decision he had made was the right one for him, but he was afraid that he had pushed the older Immortal into a battle that he didn’t want. And he was afraid that, just as he’d found more than friendship with the other man, something would happen to snatch the chance at happiness out of their reach.

“It was as good as any of your other ideas,” Methos said with a half-smile and a small shrug of his shoulders. He knew that Duncan was concerned for his safety, but he wasn’t used to having anyone worry about him. That Duncan did warmed his heart and chilled his guts at the same time. He both wanted it, and feared it.

“Methos!” Duncan hissed under his breath in exasperation.

“MacLeod,” Methos replied, his voice low and deep.

“Just...watch your head, Old Man,” Duncan said.

Methos smiled. “I love you, too, Duncan,” he murmured, and pushed away from the tree, brushing past Duncan, and standing on legs that were none-too-steady after that declaration. “They’re coming back.” He inclined his head towards the school.

Duncan turned to follow Methos’ gaze, and saw Buffy and Spike darting through the shadows. He closed his fingers over the nape of Methos’ neck as they stood together. He leaned close to the other man and whispered, “I love you, too,” and punctuated it with a light kiss on the other man’s neck.

Duncan dropped his hand and the two Immortals walked over to join the others.

***

“They’re in there, all right,” Buffy said when they reached the group. “We couldn’t get into the old library, but the hallway is filled with demons. The Boss must be in there, getting ready to perform the ritual.”

“We’re going to need a way to clear that hallway, though. Either push ‘em back so we can get in, or draw ‘em out,” Spike added.

“All right.” Giles took over and began directing. “Willow, start setting up the circle. Anya, could you help her, please? The rest of us need to come up with a plan to get into the library.”

Willow and Anya moved to a clear spot and began to remove the magical supplies from the bag Willow had carried, setting out pillar and tapered candles, sand, and herbs.

“Well, I have an *idea*,” Xander said. “But it’s not exactly a plan, yet.”

“What is it?” Spike asked.

Xander held out his hand, and everyone stared at the object he held.

“Oh, dear lord,” Giles said.

“Xander, where did you get a *grenade*?” Buffy asked.

“Same place I got the missile launcher,” he replied.

‘Missile launcher?’ Methos mouthed to Duncan, his eyes wide.

“You’ve had a grenade since Junior year?” Buffy’s voice was getting high.

“Uh, two, actually.” Xander pulled a second grenade out of his pocket.

“Bloody hell!” Spike reached out to take one. He rolled it around in his hand thoughtfully, and turned to look at the school. “Can’t just toss ‘em in the front,” he said. “Too unstable. I thought the place was going to collapse last year when we were in there fighting them Vahrall demons.”

“We can toss one in around back, get their attention, draw them away from the front entrance,” Buffy suggested. “Give us some maneuvering room.”

“Good idea,” Giles said. “All right, here’s what we’ll do. Spike, you and Xander go around to the rear entrance, use one of the grenades to create a diversion. Buffy, Anya, Duncan, and Adam.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Will wait near the front entrance. If the demons surge forward, they’ll engage in the courtyard. If the demons move toward the explosion, they’ll enter the school and engage while they’re distracted. If there isn’t too much rubble from the explosion, you two...” He turned back to Spike and Xander. “...can move further into the school and trap the demons between you. If you can’t get through, get out and come back around to the front. Once inside, Buffy and Duncan will attempt to get into the old library to eliminate the Host. Is everyone clear?” he asked.

“Gotcha, Giles.” Buffy nodded, gripping a stake in her hand for comfort.

“Sure thing, G-man.” Xander just smiled when Giles rolled his eyes.

“Yes,” Duncan and Methos said at the same time. They were centuries older than this man, but he had a command presence that surprised them both.

“Yeah,” Spike said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

Anya and Willow rejoined the group. “Circle’s ready,” Willow said.

“All right,” Giles said. “It is now ten minutes to midnight. Everyone take your places. Xander, Spike, radio us when you’re in position.” Giles indicated the radios everyone except Willow and Xander, who had given theirs to Methos and Duncan, wore on their hips. “As soon as the grenade is in play, we move. All right, go!”

Xander, Anya, Buffy, Duncan, and Methos moved toward the school. Spike looked at Willow, as if trying to memorize her face. He crushed the unsmoked cigarette under his boot, gently grabbed her by the back of the neck, and pressed his forehead against hers. “Be careful,” he said, before he turned and followed the others.

“You, too,” Willow whispered, as she watched Spike run to catch up with the others. He and Xander veered off and disappeared in the shadows around the school. Buffy, Anya, Duncan, and Methos hid themselves in the shadows of the courtyard at the front entrance. Giles touched her shoulder and Willow jumped.

“Come on, Willow,” he spoke softly, knowing they were both worried for their friends. They walked over to the circle and stepped inside it. Willow sprinkled the sand to close the circle, and knelt before the altar. She called on the elements of earth, air, water, and fire in turn, and lit the candles representing each. She then called on the Goddess and God, and lit their candles.

When she was finished, Giles picked up a packet of herbs. He chanted the protection spell as he sprinkled the herbs over the burning candles. The air shimmered around them, as the invisible protection barrier was erected.

A gust of wind blew Willow’s hair away from her face, and she looked worriedly towards the school. “B’az has begun the ritual,” she warned Giles.

Giles pulled the radio off his belt and thumbed the button. “Spike,” he spoke into the radio. “Willow say’s B’az has begun the ritual. How close are you?”

“Hold on,” Spike’s voice came over the radio speaker, and then radio silence returned. “Xander says we’re near the cafeteria, whatever that means.” Spike’s voice crackled as they descended into the bowels of the ruined school.

“All right,” Giles said. “Get there as fast as you can. We might have to start without you.”

“Bugger!” was Spike’s reply.

“Buffy, did you hear that?” Giles spoke into the radio again.

“Yeah, Giles, I heard,” Buffy replied.

“When Willow starts her spell, the demons might come looking for the source, if Spike and Xander aren’t able to distract them. Be prepared,” he warned.

“We’re ready, Giles,” Buffy assured him.

Giles replaced the radio on his belt and turned to Willow, who was already murmuring the words to the incantation that would bind the Pan’kr priest from using his magic. He moved to Willow’s side so that he could keep an eye on both her and the school.

Just as she finished the spell, Willow’s body was jerked taut as a bow string, her arms flung straight out to her sides, her head thrown back. A powerful wind picked up around them, blowing her hair in a stream behind her. Her eyes shot open and a brilliant green light shone out of them.

“Ligo ars magicam sacradotis!” she cried, and the light from her eyes shot towards the school. Moments later, the wind and light died, and Willow slumped forward. Giles caught her before she could hit the ground.

“Did it work?” she asked tiredly. Giles looked at the demons spilling out of the school to find that which had interrupted the ritual.

“Yes, I rather think it did,” he replied, holding Willow as she recovered.

“I need to finish the spell.” Willow opened her eyes, a normal green once more.

“That can wait for a moment,” he told her, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to finish the spell yet. “Oh, dear lord!”

“What? What is it?” she asked, trying to turn her head.

“I think some of them have figured out who interrupted the ritual,” he responded. “And here they come!”

“Don’t break the circle,” Willow reminded him unnecessarily, just to hear herself say it, as she crawled to her knees. “Hope that barrier holds,” she muttered as she saw half a dozen demon warriors descending on them.

***

“How far are we from the bloody library?” Spike asked again.

“As the eagle flies, or as the human has to crawl over the rubble?” Xander asked sarcastically, tired of Spike’s complaints. He was worried about his friends, too, but bickering wasn’t going to get them there any faster.

“How about as the vampire throws the human over the rubble?” Spike shot back.

“Hardy har har, funny man,” Xander replied, as he stepped carefully over a pile of concrete and steel. He stopped and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “We should almost be there. The lounge is just ahead.”

Xander took a step forward, and Spike reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hold up,” he said, then tilted his head and listened.

“What is it?” Xander asked, looking around them to see if he could determine what Spike was hearing.

“Something happened. Demons are on the move. Let’s get going.” Spike started forward again.

“Willow must have finished the binding spell,” Xander said, as he followed Spike.

They reached the end of the hallway and peeked around the corner. The remains of the old library lay just ahead. Spike pulled Xander back and placed his lips near the other man’s ear. “We can’t throw the grenade here. If this place comes down, Buffy has no way of getting in there and taking out the Host.”

He looked around them. “If we could get them into the lounge, we could toss the grenade there.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Xander asked.

“I’ll get their attention and run like hell.” Spike grinned, enjoying himself.

“You are one sick puppy.” Xander shook his head. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to get your ass back around that corner past the lounge so you can throw the grenade after I’ve so nicely lured them into our trap,” Spike replied.

“We’ve only got one radio,” Xander said. “I won’t be able to tell you when I’m ready.”

“Yell,” Spike said. “We won’t need to be quiet at that point. Oh, here, take this.” He handed Xander the radio. “Don’t wanna break it.” Spike smirked.

Xander shook his head and took off running back down the hallway the way they had come, dodging fallen beams and jumping piles of rubble. When he had the end of the hallway in sight, he yelled, “Oka-a-ay!” back at the vampire.

With a grin, Spike stepped around the corner where approximately two dozen demons or more stood guard outside the library door. They didn’t look to be of a single species, and Spike wondered briefly whether the Pan’kr were able to assimilate many races, or whether they were mercenaries. They were uneasy, as part of their number had been called away to address the magical threat that Willow posed, and Spike hoped that uneasiness would make them easier to manipulate.

“Hey!” Spike said, holding up his pack of cigarettes and tapping one out into his palm. “Anybody got a light?”

As one, the demons turned to look at him. One of the demons, a tall fellow with hideous pea-green flesh and a head of milky-white hair that flowed down his back, yelled something in a language Spike didn’t recognize, and pointed towards him. A demon with terra cotta scales covering its hide broke away from the pack and moved in Spike’s direction. Spike waited patiently, the cigarette still in his hand.

When the demon was three steps away, Spike stuck the unlit cigarette between his lips and brought up the battle axe he’d been carrying beneath his duster. He stepped forward and, with one mighty swing, decapitated the unsuspecting and unprepared demon.

Its head bounced on the floor, loosening several scales and sending them scattering in the sudden hush, and then rolled to stop at the feet of its brethren. Spike wiped his blade off on the leather vest covering the demon’s chest, and then gave his body a push with the head of the axe so that it toppled over. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and grinned. “Who’s next?” he asked, as he dropped the cigarette into his duster pocket.

The demon that was obviously the leader of this group snarled something guttural and unintelligible to Spike, and eight of the demons started toward him. They were all large and very angry. But he was the Big Bad. He waited until they were about ten steps from him before he allowed a worried look to cross his face, and then slowly backed away from them.

Battle cries sounded in mixed languages, and the demons started running after Spike, looking for retaliation for the death of their comrade. He turned and ran around the corner, racing down the hallway towards the lounge where Xander waited with the grenade. When the lounge was in sight, Spike darted a look behind him to see where the demons were.

They were almost on him, anger and purpose fueling their speed, and he knew the grenade would take a second or two before it went off. “Now, Xander!” he yelled into the empty hallway.

Xander stepped around the corner and saw Spike leading the demons toward him...well toward the lounge, but his body’s fight or flight reflex didn’t see it quite that way. He hesitated a moment with the grenade in his hand, wanting to give Spike time to reach safety.

“Now!” Spike yelled again. Xander pulled the pin and drew his arm back, then threw the grenade as far as he could. Spike collided with him and pushed him back around the corner. The grenade exploded and the concussive force sent them flying through the air.

***

Willow looked past the demons beating on the barrier with their fists, and hacking at it with axes, when she heard the grenade explode. She stood and watched in stunned silence as explosion after explosion ripped through the building and made the ground shake beneath her feet. A portion of the already compromised structure fell in, leaving a gaping hole in the center.

“Oh, dear lord,” Giles said.

“Wha...? Was that supposed to happen?” Willow asked, her eyes wide with shock as she fell to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her weight. ‘Spike,’ she thought.

Chapter Seventeen

Buffy replaced the radio on her hip. “Be ready,” she warned. “We might be having company real soon.” She looked over her shoulder at Willow and Giles, a worried frown creasing her brow.

She and Duncan were concealed in the shadows on one side of the entrance, Adam and Anya on the other. Both Immortals had pulled their swords and stood ready to fight. Anya clenched the baseball bat so tightly that her knuckles were white. Buffy held a broadsword loosely in the fingers of one hand; the fingers of the other closed comfortingly over the stake in her pocket.

A sudden breeze lifted the hair off Buffy’s neck, and she looked around. She saw Willow, her body arranged as if she were on a cross, a green glow about her face. Without warning, the green light coalesced into a beam which shot from her eyes and into the school behind them.

“Holy...crap!” Buffy ducked instinctively.

At her exclamation, the others looked up and watched the light shoot over their heads and disappear into the school. “What was that?” Anya asked.

“I think that was our cue,” Buffy replied, tightening her grip on the sword.

***

Duncan took a deep, calming breath to center himself. He closed his eyes and extended his other senses. He could hear Willow’s and Giles’ soft voices from the distance, he could hear Buffy breathing beside him, and he could hear Methos’ heart beating in time with his own.

He opened his eyes and turned his head so that he could see Methos in the shadows across from him. The older Immortal was staring at him, and when their eyes met, he smiled and raised his sword in salute. Duncan’s nostrils flared as he took in the other man’s casual stance that could turn alert and lethal in a moment, the strength and grace of his body hidden under baggy sweater and loose raincoat.

After this battle was over, he was going to take Methos back to the hotel and not let him out of bed for a week. As if he could read Duncan’s mind, Methos’ eyes widened, and then he smirked. Buffy tensed beside him and drew Duncan’s attention away from his lascivious thoughts, and back to the upcoming battle.

From inside the school they could hear the tramping of booted feet running down the hall, the rustle of material as arms swung against torso, and legs brushed together, and the bellow of voices shouting commands in an unfamiliar language. And then a dozen demons burst out of the school and into the courtyard.

Before they realized that anyone was waiting for them, Buffy, Duncan, and Methos were cutting into their ranks, while Anya battered them with the baseball bat. Half a dozen warriors turned to take on their attackers, while the rest continued through the courtyard, seeking the magic user who had disturbed their ritual.

These demons, unlike other demons Buffy was used to fighting, were trained warriors, more than capable of holding their own. Recognizing her as the Slayer, and assuming that made her the most dangerous of their opponents, three of the demons attacked her, while the other three took on each of the others. The demons expertly wielded axes, swords, and maces with spiked heads.

***

Buffy kicked out at one of the demons, a gray female with huge wart-like bumps on her face, neck, and hands, and then whirled and slashed at another, this one a member of the hideous pea-green variety. Its hair covered its head in white spikes. The third demon, its flesh a slightly darker shade of red than the human norm, and with curling ram-type horns at the side of its head, landed a blow to her right shoulder with its mace that tore flesh and numbed her arm.

“Fuck, that hurt!” she swore, as she passed her sword to her left hand, shaking her right arm out, trying to restore feeling in her fingers. She swung her sword in a wide arc, forcing the three demons to stumble back a step, and then immediately engaged the one on her left, keeping it between her and the other two.

***

The demon facing Duncan was armed with a sharp and deadly looking axe, a look of determination on its horned visage. The demon came at him, rapid and vicious, and he had no time to set himself for the attack. He put his sword up defensively and blocked the demon’s blows. The demon was large and ungainly, and Duncan’s only edge his ability to move gracefully and agilely out from under the demon’s attack.

Taking advantage of the demon’s lumbering gait, Duncan danced back quickly until he was out of the demon’s long reach. When the demon moved forward to re-engage, Duncan nimbly stepped in and took the offensive. The demon, seemingly unused to its quarry fighting back so skillfully, faltered, and Duncan wasted no time in driving his sword home, piercing the demon’s chest.

The demon stared at Duncan in disbelief, before falling backward off the blade and crashing to the ground, leaving a sticky coating of yellow gore behind. Duncan turned in time to slash at the gray, warty demon attempting to sneak up on Buffy, drawing its attention away from her.

“Thanks!” Buffy called back over her shoulder without even looking, and Duncan realized that even though she’d looked oblivious to the demon’s approach, she had been fully aware of it.

“Welcome!” he called back. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Damn *demon*,” she lunged forward, “hit me with its *mace*,” slash. “It’s still a little numb.”

***

Anya didn’t wait for her demon, the terra cotta scales on its hide curling up at the edges as if they were drying and ready to fall off, to attack. As soon as they split up, she went on the offensive, swinging her bat like a, well, like a bat! Her first blow hit the demon’s wrist and almost startled it into dropping its weapon. It lifted its arm, the head of the axe it carried larger than Anya’s head, and swung.

Anya did a duck and roll maneuver she’d learned from Xander, and then rose to her feet at the demon’s side. She swing the bat again, and heard a satisfying ‘Snap!’ as it connected with the demon’s elbow. The demon growled in pain or anger, Anya wasn’t sure which, and swung the axe in an awkward sweep.

The axe connected with Anya’s bat, surprising both of them. The bat was shattered in two before being torn out of her numb and stinging hands, and Anya watched the two halves fly away from her. She turned back to the demon, her eyes wide with fear. It reached out and closed its fingers around her throat and lifted her off her feet. Anya kicked at the demon with her feet and scrabbled at it with her fingers as her air was cut off.

***

The demon facing Methos, an ebony creature with purple eyes, grinned, showing a mouth full of large, pointed, yellowing teeth. It raised the mace it carried over its head and swung it about, flipping it expertly from hand to hand. Methos tilted his head to the side and watched the demon showing off in an attempt to intimidate the smaller man.

The demon might be a seasoned warrior who found little to fear in the human, but Methos doubted that it had 5000 years of experience to draw on. Methos had learned over the years that it paid to be prepared. And he didn’t always play by the rules. He reached into the pocket of his raincoat and pulled out a gun, flicked the safety off, aimed it at the demon’s chest, and fired, shooting it where he thought the heart might be.

The demon looked at Methos, and then down at its chest, an incredulous expression gracing its otherwise unremarkable features. Methos calmly replaced the gun in his pocket, watched the demon’s arms fall as if weighted, and then swung his sword and decapitated it, just in case. He’d also learned that it never hurt to be careful.

Methos looked around the battle area. Buffy and Duncan were back-to-back, fighting three demons. They looked a bit battered, but they were still on their feet. Anya was in the grip of another, her face slowly turning purple. Methos turned towards the demon holding Anya and drew his sword back.

Anya’s hand found purchase in the demon’s leather vest. She curled her fingers to tug futilely at the material, and they wrapped around the hilt of a dagger he carried strapped to his waist. Anya pulled the dagger as stars danced before her eyes, turned it in her hand, and jammed it into the demon’s side as hard and as deeply as she could.

The demon looked at her in surprise, and then Anya screamed, the sound muffled in her closing throat, as its head flew from its neck. Even in death, the demon did not release its hold on her throat, and Anya clawed at its fingers, her eyes going wide as she felt herself falling through the air. She landed on the ground with a ‘Whump!’, the demon atop her.

Methos dropped beside her and lay his sword on the ground. He pulled the demon’s fingers away from her throat even as he surveyed the battlefield for possible attack. Anya choked and coughed as she tried to suck in air.

“Can’t breathe,” she gasped.

“Did he crush your windpipe?” Methos asked worriedly. He really had been a doctor, but battlefield medicine was always the worst.

“No, heavy,” Anya choked, trying to heave the demon off her.

“Oh!” Methos got his hands beneath the demon, brushing Anya’s breast as he did so. “Sorry,” he muttered, as he levered the demon up and rolled it off her.

“That’s...all right,” Anya replied as she sucked in much needed oxygen. “He broke my bat,” she said as she rolled to her knees. “But I found *this*.” She pulled the dagger out of the demon’s side with a wet sucking sound, and held it up before Methos.

“Nice,” Methos grinned. “How about this?” He handed her the mace the demon he had been fighting dropped when Methos cut off its head. He swung it like a bat, and held it out to her. “You might be more comfortable with it, although it’s a little bit heavier on the end, because it’s metal, not wood.”

Anya took the mace and rose to her feet, swinging it experimentally a few times. “I like it!” she enthused, and then smashed it down angrily into the chest of the demon that had choked her. “Jerk!” she cried, and had to twist the mace a bit to get it back out. “That hurt!”

***

Methos picked up his sword and the two of them moved to flank the demons Buffy and Duncan were fighting. Now that it was four to three, and the demons were already wavering under the unrelenting attack of the Highland warrior and the Slayer, the battle was short-lived. When they were done, Buffy glanced over to see Willow and Giles still safe behind their protective barrier.

“We need to get inside,” she began. “But I don’t want to leave...” The expected explosion finally sounded behind them, and Buffy paused, waiting for the noise to die down so she could continue speaking. As one rumbling explosion sounded after another, Buffy slowly turned to look at the school behind them.

The ground shook and the building swayed. “Get back!” Duncan yelled. He grabbed Buffy’s arm and pulled her away from the building, even as he checked to make sure that Methos got away. A large tremor shifted the earth beneath their feet, and they stumbled and fell, rolling to their backs to watch as a large portion of the school fell in on itself, leaving a large yawning gap behind.

“Oh, my God,” Buffy broke the silence, as her eyes darted back and forth across the school. “Oh, my God.”

“Xander?” Anya whimpered. “Xander!” She rolled to her knees and scrambled to her feet. Methos grabbed her around the waist before she could take off towards the school. “Xander!” she screamed.

Anya’s scream brought Buffy out of her trance, and she rose to her feet. She walked over to Anya and dropped her sword, taking Anya’s face in both of her hands and pulling her attention away from the school.

“We’re going to find him, Anya,” she said, her voice slow and even. “And he’s going to be all right. But there are still a lot of demons between us and them. We need Willow. Do you understand me?”

Anya nodded. “All right.” Buffy released the other girl’s face, and leaned down to retrieve her weapon. “You and Adam go get Willow and Giles, Mac and I will go inside and thin the herd a little bit, okay?”

Anya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then nodded again. “Okay. Just...save me some, all right?”

Buffy grinned ferally. “No promises. I’m not in a very giving mood right now. Ready?” she asked Duncan.

“Ready.” He nodded. He looked at Methos, who waved him off with a slight curve of his lips.

“I know. You too, Highlander.”

Buffy and Duncan ran toward the school entrance, Methos and Anya turned toward the demons still battering at the barrier surrounding Willow and Giles, as if the blast from the school hadn’t fazed them a bit. Willow was on her knees, staring at the school. Giles stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, a look of profound sorrow on his face.

Willow staggered to her feet. She braced her legs, steeled her shoulders, and threw her arms out as she yelled, “Repellite!”

Methos watched in amazement as a gale-force wind burst forth and slammed into the demons, picking them up and tumbling them as if they were rag dolls. He staggered as the tail end of the gust caught him, and grabbed onto Anya as she stumbled beside him.

Willow hastily spoke words of thanks, released the four elements and the God and Goddess, and extinguished the candles before the demons could recover. “Demitte,” she called out. The barrier dropped and she stepped over the circle. She picked up the crossbow she’d brought with her and turned with determination toward the first demon that was stirring.

The demon growled at her and clambered to its feet, raising its sword. Willow wasted no time in aiming the crossbow and pulling the trigger. The bolt shot out and buried itself in the demon’s chest. With a surprised look on its face, the demon toppled backward.

Willow reloaded, and turned to the next demon that had started to rise. She fired; the bolt lodging in the demon’s shoulder. “Crap,” she muttered, as she reloaded. She felt movement at her side, and glanced over to find Giles standing protectively beside her, an axe in one hand, several more bolts in the other.

Without speaking, Willow loosed the third bolt, hitting the now-standing and quickly-approaching demon in the eye. She grabbed the bolts out of Giles’ hand and was reloading before the demon hit the ground.

“Save me one!” Anya yelled, as she ran towards Willow, Giles, and the four remaining demons. Willow glanced at Anya, and then turned her attention back to the crossbow.

“First come, first served,” she murmured, as she fired again, the bolt burying itself in the demon’s stomach. Her arms were starting to feel heavy, and her aim was off. Her fear for Spike, and her body’s inability to function as she wanted it to, brought tears of frustration to her eyes.

Anya ran up behind the demon Willow had just shot in the gut and swung her mace at it. The head buried itself in the demon’s back, and the demon dropped to its knees. Methos pushed her out of the way and beheaded the demon. The head rolled off and the torso toppled forward, driving the bolt through its back. Anya grabbed her mace and tugged, then placed her foot against the demon’s side and tugged again. The head came free with a ‘Slurp!’, and Anya staggered backward. “Damned spikes,” she muttered to herself.

Methos looked around them to see Giles engaged with one of the three remaining demons, while Willow reloaded the crossbow. Luckily, the demons still seemed to be a bit dazed and sluggish from the wind spell, or whatever that was Willow had done, and weren’t moving as quickly as they normally would have to take advantage of the redhead’s flagging pace.

Methos and Anya moved to double-team one of the demons as Willow fixed her sights on the other. She fired, hitting the demon in the thigh. ‘Damn!’ she thought. He was moving more quickly now, and Willow knew she didn’t have time to reload. She looked around her for another weapon, certain that the stake in her pocket wasn’t going to be enough.

She dove for the circle and picked up the pillar candles, throwing them with questionable accuracy at the demon. They didn’t stop him, or even hurt him, but he had to slow a bit to avoid the annoying missiles. When the candles were gone, Willow pulled her stake.

With sword slashing and mace bashing, Methos and Anya made short work of the demon. When they were finished, and the demon dead, Methos turned to Giles, and Anya went to Willow’s aid. The demon was fixated on Willow and didn’t hear or sense Anya’s approach. Anya swung her mace, smashing it into the demon’s shoulder.

The demon turned and swatted her away with its other hand, pulled the mace out of its shoulder with a grunt of pain and tossed it away from him, and then moved inexorably towards Willow. “Anya?” Willow called, as she backed away from the demon. “Anya, are you all right?”

Giles stabbed the demon through the heart, and Methos looked up just as the other demon grabbed Willow around the neck and pulled her towards him. He saw its mouth move, but didn’t hear, nor would he have understood, the words pouring forth.

The demon pulled its arm back to strike Willow with the axe it carried, and Methos drew his own arm back and threw his sword. The sword buried itself in the demon’s side, missing the heart, and the demon stumbled. Giles ran past Methos and threw himself at the demon, knocking the three of them to the ground before the demon could complete its strike.

Willow grunted as she hit the hard, unyielding ground, and the air whooshed out of her body. She looked up into the demon’s eyes, shining with fanatic purpose. She brought her hand up and stabbed it in the neck with the stake. Green blood gushed out of the demon, spraying her face and neck, as she stabbed it again, and again, until Methos grabbed her hand.

“It’s dead,” he whispered, as he and Giles rolled the bloody demon carcass off her.

Methos helped Willow to her feet. She wobbled, and then steadied. Willow wiped her hand through the blood on her face, looked at her palm, and then wiped it on her jeans. She brushed her hair out of her face, and looked at Anya. Her eyes moved to the school.

“We need to find Spike and Xander,” she said.

Chapter Eighteen

Willow straightened her shoulders. And they would find the two men *alive*. Or she’d bring them back just so she could kill them again herself for being so stupid as to let themselves get killed! She shook herself. She couldn’t allow herself to think like that. They were alive.

“Where are Buffy and Mac?” she asked, looking around them at the carnage.

“They went inside, to ‘thin the herd’,” Methos replied, as he pulled Anya’s mace and his sword out of the demon’s body. He handed Anya the mace, and wiped the blood from his blade onto the back of the demon’s vest. Willow nodded as she looked around for weapons. She gathered up the crossbow she’d dropped and pulled a handful of bolts out of the bag.

“I need something...else.” She looked at the bodies arrayed about them.

“These work great,” Anya said, holding up her mace. “Well, except they tend to stick if you swing too hard.”

Willow narrowed her eyes as she examined the weapon Anya held, and then searched the battlefield for a fallen mace. Giles found one without spikes on the head, and handed it to her. “Thanks,” Willow said, as she shoved the handle through her belt.

“All right.” She looked at her friends, old and new. “Giles, you and Adam get in there and help Buffy and Mac.”

“Where are you going?” Giles asked.

“Anya and I are going around back, to look for Spike and Xander. As soon as we find them, we’ll join you.” Willow didn’t wait for Giles to disapprove her plan. She grabbed Anya’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Willow and Anya took off at a run toward the back of the school, where Xander and Spike had disappeared earlier. Giles thought about calling them back, realized the futility of it, and turned to Methos. “Shall we, Adam?” he asked, and turned, jogging towards the front entrance of the school, his axe held loosely in his hand, before Methos could answer.

Methos shrugged his shoulders, and then sped after him, his raincoat billowing out behind.

***

Willow and Anya reached the entrance they were certain Spike and Xander had used, based on the information they’d received over the radio that the two men had passed the cafeteria on their way to the library. Willow held her loaded crossbow at the ready, and Anya gripped the mace in both hands, as they slipped into the ruined school.

After a couple of minutes of skirting steel beams and climbing over piles of rubble, it was clear that they weren’t going to be able to remain at alert status and make any kind of time. Deciding that they were unlikely to run into any demons on this end of the school, they paid more attention to their physical surroundings and hurried down what once had been the hallway outside the cafeteria.

The real destruction began just before they reached the lounge. Pieces of the ceiling had fallen in, and the walls were bowing out. They slowed their pace and began searching for the missing men, their eyes carefully scanning the wreckage they walked over.

“Xander!” “Spike!” The two girls called. The words echoed eerily back at them, but there was no other reply. They moved slowly forward.

“Oh, dear D’Hoffryn!” Anya almost fell as her knees gave out. “Is that blood?”

Willow knelt beside the small pool of blood on the floor. “Yes,” she said, as she looked around them. “But they’re not here. That means they’re alive. Anya!” Willow hardened her voice to get through to the shaken girl. “They’re alive! Let’s go find them.”

Anya nodded, and pushed away from the wall she’d used to hold herself up.

“And stay away from the walls.” Willow looked up in trepidation as the wall Anya had been leaning against swayed. “Come on.” Willow turned away and led the way down the debris-strewn hallway. They had to stop again when they reached the lounge.

The ceiling was open to the sky, and they could see the courtyard through great gaping holes in the walls. Demon corpses were buried beneath large slabs of fallen concrete, and body parts littered the area.

“Oh, gods, what if...”

“No!” Willow didn’t even let her finish the thought. “They were back *there* when this happened.” She gestured behind them with the crossbow. “They are *not* under here,” she spoke firmly, trying to be certain enough to convince them both.

Gradually the sounds of battle reached their ears. “There’s fighting up ahead,” Willow said, her voice rising in excitement. “We’re almost there, let’s go.”

The two women clambered over the wreckage as quickly as they could, stopping once to free Willow’s leg when she wedged it between two slabs. When they were through the lounge area and starting down the hallway on the other side, the damage lessened and they could pick up more speed, Willow hobbling on her wrenched ankle.

They slowed down as they reached the end of the hallway, afraid to look around the corner and find out that Spike and Xander weren’t there ahead of them.

***

Spike lopped off the hand of a demon that was too slow pulling it back. He was covered with shallow cuts, and dust, and blood. He and Xander were lucky that the muted blast from the explosion had thrown them far enough down the hallway to escape serious damage when the ceiling caved in behind them.

Xander’s shoulder had been dislocated in the fall, especially with Spike’s added weight on top of him, and Spike’s back would have been shredded by flying shrapnel if not for the leather duster he wore. When they’d shaken off the effects of the tumble as best they could, Spike had put Xander’s shoulder back in place.

Xander swore and threatened to dust Spike where he stood, as he took shallow breaths, waiting for the pain to abate. When he could walk without every step jarring his shoulder, he and Spike made their way back to the lounge. The destruction was more than they had expected from the single grenade.

“What in Hell happened here?” Xander asked, as he tipped his head back and looked at the night sky through the now-open roof.

Spike sniffed. “Gas,” he said.

“I did not!” Xander protested.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Not *you*, ya nit. I smell gas. There must have been some trapped in here after the last explosion. Hence the new sunroof.” He tilted his head back.

They were surprised that the blast hadn’t drawn more of the demons away from the old library to investigate. Carefully and slowly climbing over slabs of concrete and crumbling brick, they made their way through the devastated lounge. When they reached the end of the corridor and poked their heads around the corner, they realized why the demons hadn’t sent anyone to look into the explosion.

Some of the demons were just regaining their feet, having been affected by the unexpected range of the blast. Others were fighting Buffy and Duncan, trying to keep them out of the library. With a roar, Spike hefted his battle axe and waded into the fray. With a less manly roar, Xander followed him, his short sword raised above his head, one arm tucked against his chest, wincing in pain as each running footfall jarred his shoulder.

Time passed as if in a dream. They could have been inside the school for five minutes, or five hours. The two now stood together, hacking and slashing at the demons before them, driving them onto the flashing blades of Buffy and Duncan, who had been joined by Giles and Methos, and who they could barely see on the other side of the pack of demons through the dusty haze surrounding them. There were fewer than a dozen demons left, but they seemed to fight with more determination as their numbers dwindled.

The demon Spike was fighting roared in pain and outrage as it lost its hand. Spike took the opportunity of the demon’s distraction to swing his axe at the demon’s chest. The demon charged towards Spike just as he completed his swing, aiding the momentum of the axe being buried in its chest. The demon stared dumbly at the axe blade sticking out of its chest, and then began to tumble backward.

Spike tugged on the axe handle, struggling to remove the axe from the demon’s chest and keep the already cooling body from pitching over before he could retrieve his weapon. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and ducked, just as another demon swung a spiked mace at his head. The mace whooshed over Spike’s head and buried itself in the dead demon’s chest alongside Spike’s blade. Before he could rise, a crossbow bolt came out of nowhere and buried itself in the other demon’s neck.

Spike jerked around and saw Willow and Anya standing in the hallway behind them. Willow, her face and neck spattered with specks of green demon blood calmly reloaded the crossbow as Anya ran up to fight beside Xander.

“Where you been, Red?” Spike called back to her, happier than he ever thought possible to see her standing there, as he stood and yanked the axe out of the demon’s chest. The demon with the bolt protruding from its neck was currently trying to decide whether it should pull the mace free, or the bolt. Spike kicked the dead demon into it to further distract it, and then neatly decapitated it.

“I was looking for you,” Willow replied, as she raised the crossbow. “Lucky for you I found you alive.” She fired, lowered the crossbow, and reloaded.

“Lucky for me?” Spike asked, as he took on another demon, fighting with renewed vigor.

“Yep,” Willow said, as she raised the bow and fired into the crowd of demons. She was so exhausted that she wasn’t sure she could actually hit what she was aiming at, but figured that she had a good chance of hitting something in the teeming mass. She just hoped a stray bolt didn’t make it through to the other side and hit one of her friends. “I was already planning on ways to bring you back just so I could kill you again for dying on me,” she explained.

“Is there some kind of twisted logic in that?” Spike asked, with a grin.

“Who the Hell ever said love was logical?” Willow responded with a question of her own. She reloaded and fired again, and again, until the bolts she carried with her were gone. She dropped the crossbow on the littered floor behind her, pulled the mace from her belt, and stepped up beside Spike, who had continued fighting in silence.

“Did you say ‘love’?” he asked, swinging his axe.

“What?” Willow yelped.

“Love.” Spike turned to look at her. “Did you say ‘love’?”

Willow swung her mace at a demon who was aiming its axe at Spike’s unprotected back.

“When?” she asked.

“Just bloody now!” Spike yelled, swinging his axe at a demon approaching Willow from behind. “You said love isn’t logical.”

“Did not,” Willow blustered.

“Did too!” Spike punched a persistent demon.

“Can you not see we’re trying to talk here?” Willow yelled at the demon, and then swung her mace at its head, crushing its skull. “Bloody inconsiderate...demon!” Willow turned back to see Spike smiling at her. “What?” she yelled.

Spike’s grin widened. He pulled her out of the path of certain death by sword-skewering and placed a quick kiss on her lips. “Love you too, Red,” he said, before jumping back into the thick of the battle.

***

Buffy and Duncan slipped quietly into the school. Sticking as close to the uncertain protection afforded by the unstable walls as safely possible, they crept down the hallway toward the library. Buffy poked her head around the corner to get a head count of the demons arrayed outside the old library. A few were climbing to their feet, but most were still on the floor, shaking off the effects of the blast.

“There’s only about fifteen,” she told Duncan quickly. “But they’re dazed from the explosion. We should be able to hold them until back-up arrives. Let’s go!” She swung around the corner and ran down the corridor towards the stunned demons.

“*Only* about fifteen? Well, that’s encouraging,” he muttered, pushing away from the wall to follow her. As he ran down the hallway, Duncan saw Buffy decapitate a still-dazed demon, kick its body out of her way, and move on to the next.

Within minutes, more of the demons were recovering their senses and joining in the battle. The demons may have been injured, their numbers significantly reduced, but they were formidable in the defense of their Priest. Soon, Buffy and Duncan were fighting off two or three demons at a time, barely able to dance away from their strikes, managing to elude serious harm but taking minor injuries, and beginning to tire. Suddenly they heard a loud roar, and both took a moment from their current engagement to glance up in surprise.

Spike and Xander were running down the hallway on the other side of the nearly-recovered demons. Spike raised his axe menacingly and jumped into the fray. Xander wielded his sword less menacingly, but with no less purpose.

“Cavalry’s here,” Buffy grinned, and redoubled her efforts.

Chapter Nineteen

Giles and Methos didn’t bother with stealth as they entered the school, knowing that Buffy and Duncan were already engaging the demons, but they did slow down enough to make sure that they weren’t running straight into a trap. When they finally reached the corridor to the library, they found the demons caught between Duncan and Buffy at this end of the hall, and Spike and Xander at the other end.

Duncan’s attention wavered briefly, relief flooding through him as the buzz of Methos’ presence washed over him. A tension he didn’t realize he was carrying flowed out of his muscles, and he found a new strength of purpose as he went on the offensive. “About time you got here, Old Man,” he spoke the words casually, hoping that Methos would understand the feelings of relief, of love, behind them.

“What’s the matter, Highlander?” Methos asked, as he stepped up beside the other man. “There can’t be more than a dozen demons here. You must be getting *soft*.” He punctuated the word with a sharp jab that skewered a demon who thought to take advantage of Duncan’s distraction, as the younger Immortal dealt with another foe.

“I’ll show you who’s soft,” Duncan threatened playfully, as he skillfully slashed his sword, gracefully dodging killing blows, Methos’ presence breathing new life into tired muscles, and a body sore from healing the minor damage he had received in the battle.

“Promises, promises, Highlander.” Methos beheaded the demon he’d stabbed, and then moved on to the next.

Giles entered the fight beside his Slayer. “Glad you could make it, Giles.” Buffy grinned at him, totally in her element. She might fear for her friends’ safety, but she was born to this, and the lust for the battle sang in her blood. “How’s Willow?”

“She’s fine,” Giles replied, expertly backing a demon onto Buffy’s blade.

“Where is she?” Buffy asked. “I can’t believe you were able to keep her out of the fight,” she said, punching a demon that had slipped past her sword.

“I wasn’t,” Giles replied, swinging his sword at a demon. “She and Anya went to look for Spike and Xander, who I see are already,” slash, “here. I expect,” parry, “that Anya and Willow will,” stab, “be here soon.”

“Right,” Buffy agreed, as she kicked one demon while fighting another. “You know, I really need to get in there.” She indicated the spot where the old library used to be.

“Why don’t we see if we can...” Giles broke off to duck. “Have our two master swordsmen clear a path for us?” he suggested.

“We can’t leave Xander and Spike out here alone to fight the demons...oh, good, it looks like Willow and Anya finally made it to the party,” Buffy said when she caught sight of her best friend wielding a crossbow at the other end of the hallway.

“Thank God they’re all right,” Giles sighed in relief.

“Hey!” Buffy cried, slashing at a demon as she watched Willow fire and reload the crossbow. “Is she actually aiming that at anything?”

Giles looked up and searched through the dust and bodies for Willow. “Well...” He shrugged as he watched her fire into the crowded hallway. “She is pretty tired from the spell and the fighting.”

“Oh, great,” Buffy muttered. “Hey, Mac!” she called. “New plan. I need to get in there. Let’s clear a path, huh?” she grinned, and then stepped into the throng of demons, the swings of her broadsword driving them back.

Duncan shook his head at her brave, or foolish, actions, took a deep breath, and followed her. Methos rolled his eyes at the two of them. Duncan had finally found someone just as idiotically heroic as he was. Realizing there was nothing for it, he stepped up to guard the Highlander’s back.

***

“Buffy’s making a move for the library,” Willow yelled to Spike over the sounds of the battle. “Well, the big hole in the ground that used to be the library,” she amended.

“Xander!” Spike yelled to the other man. “We need to draw the demons’ attention away from the Slayer!” he instructed, and then dove into the mass before them.

“What?” Xander squealed back. “*More* attention?”

Willow grinned at her best male friend, and followed Spike. When they had separated a handful of demons from the rest of their company, they drove them back towards Xander and Anya, leaving that many fewer that Buffy had to get past. The four of them smashed, and slashed, and hacked desperately at the demons, who were just as desperately trying to get back to the library, as they fought for their lives and the lives of everyone in the world.

Just as they managed to eliminate the demons Spike and Willow had herded and captured between them, Xander looked up to see a demon standing behind an unaware Willow. Its sword was drawn back, preparing to swing.

“Wil-ll-low!” Xander screamed a warning, and everything seemed to play out in slow motion.

Spike looked up from the demon he had just finished off at Xander’s shout, and saw another demon towering over Willow. He turned and gave Willow a shove that sent her flying onto the dead demons at their feet. The sword continued down, slashing across Spike’s chest and abdomen, leaving a gash the length of his forearm.

“She’s mine,” Spike growled. “And that bloody hurt!” The demon didn’t stand a chance. It had tried to hurt, kill, the woman Spike loved, and the master vampire took over. Spike, who had retained his human mask during the battle, vamped out, and dove for the demon, hacking with the axe, punching and kicking, until it was little more than a bloody pulp.

“No one touches what’s mine,” he snarled into the demon’s face past his fangs, and only then did he finish it off with a swipe of the axe across its throat. Blood spurted out, and Spike fell back against the wall, then slid down to the floor, one hand clutching the axe, the other pressed over the still-bleeding cut.

“Spike!” Willow, who had watched the fight in horrified fascination, rolled to her knees and crawled over to the injured vampire. “Spike, are you all right?” She cupped the side of his face with her hand, her fingertips rubbing his ridges.

“Red,” he said, his voice hoarse from pain.

“Spike?”

“I’ll be fine, just...” Spike raised his axe and, sore muscles trembling, stopped the blow that would have taken Willow’s head. “Watch out, Baby.”

Willow stood with a roar of anger and fear, and smashed the mace she carried into the demon’s stomach. As the air whooshed out of its lungs, Willow smashed it across the face. And then again. The demon fell to its knees and Willow slammed the mace into its back, knocking it to the floor.

***

With Willow’s and Spike’s help in reducing the number of demons between them and the library, Buffy and Duncan made it through the demons and into the library area quicker than they’d expected, leaving Giles and Methos to cover their backs. They stopped at the edge of the gaping hole in the floor of the old library and looked down at the Hellmouth.

“Oh...crap!” Buffy said when they saw that the Priest, B’az, and the demon they assumed was the Host, were guarded by a phalanx of half a dozen. “You are really starting to piss me off, boss man.”

“Slayer,” the Priest hissed. “I should have known you were behind this. But you couldn’t have bound my magic. My troops will find and kill the witch, and my magic will be freed, and then I will be able to conclude the ritual. Our God Pan’kr will honor me, and will kill you most horribly.”

“Do they always talk this much?” Duncan asked, his arms casually crossed over his chest, his bloodied sword hanging down the side of his torso.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy nodded her head. “Bad guys. Just can’t seem to get enough of hearing themselves talk.”

“Your irreverence will be severely punished. If you live. Come, Slayer.” The Priest beckoned to her. “See if you can make it past my elite guard.”

“Thanks.” Buffy grinned as irreverently as she could, and jumped down into the hole with the warriors. “Don’t mind if I do.” Without warning, Buffy darted at one of the demons.

Duncan rolled his eyes, wondering if this was what Methos saw when he watched Duncan take on any one of his numerous causes. He climbed down into the hole with a bit more caution, kicking out at a demon who rushed to meet his descent. He jumped the last four feet, and whirled to meet the demons rushing at him.

***

Methos watched as Buffy and Duncan made it through the horde of demons mostly unscathed and disappeared behind the rubble defining the old library. He turned his back to them and stood beside Giles, facing the few remaining demons who were attempting to get past them. He raised his sword, a feral grin on his face, hazel eyes alight with the rush of the battle, and prepared to beat them back.

Giles and Methos fought with determination borne of love. For Giles it was the love for his Slayer, the daughter he’d never had. For Methos, the love of a certain bronzed-skinned, dark-haired, and dark-eyed Highlander. They’d both do anything to protect the ones they loved.

Giles was almost fatally distracted when he heard Xander scream out Willow’s name. Methos noted the other man’s sudden lack of attention, and deflected the blow that would have skewered his throat so that it brushed his temple, knocking him to the ground. Methos finished off the demon, and then turned to see Spike take the cut to his chest.

He dove at the other two remaining demons, diverting their attention from the young people who were absorbed in watching Spike fight. In his peripheral vision, he noticed that Spike took the demon, and then watched him fall to the floor. As Willow crawled across the floor to Spike, one of the demons turned away from him, the other redoubling its attack.

Methos didn’t have time to cry out a warning to them, the demon he was fighting ducking past his guard and burying its blade in his side. ‘Fuck!’ Methos thought, as he dropped his sword. He grabbed the demon by the lapels of its vest, and pulled it to him, taking the sword deeper.

“That was my last clean shirt,” Methos snarled, and then stabbed the demon in the back with his dagger. The demon loosened its hold on the sword, and Methos pushed it to the floor. He took a deep breath, and pulled the sword from his body, and then fell to his knees. He lifted the sword over his head and decapitated the demon, and then toppled backward, his hand covering the wound in his side.

“Adam!” Giles crawled over to the injured man. “Let me see!”

“I’ll be fine.” Methos brushed the other man’s hands away. “Christ, that hurts, though!” He glanced over at Willow, who was still pounding on the demon. “I think you should let her know that the demon is most certainly dead by now,” he said with a wry smile.

Giles looked over at Willow, and then crawled over Methos to get to her. “Willow,” he said softly. “Willow, Dear, I think you got him. Good job.”

“Still the Watcher’s pet,” Xander muttered beneath his breath in relief.

“Giles, you’re hurt.” Willow reached out with her hand.

“Just a scratch,” Giles assured her. “We’re done out here.” He looked around them at the bodies that littered the floor, thankful than none of them were his children, or their new friends. “We need to go help Buffy and MacLeod.” He struggled to his feet with Willow’s help.

At the mention of his lover’s name, Methos groaned. Damned fool Highlander was probably getting himself into trouble even as they spoke. He rolled to his feet, knowing that moving, fighting, would slow the healing of the wound in his side, but that didn’t concern him. Making sure that Duncan lived *did*.

He rolled the demon and retrieved his dagger, and then found his sword. He stood with both weapons in his hands as Spike regained his feet and Willow rooted around several of the dead bodies. He turned to what was left of the library, and the others followed.

Chapter Twenty

The Priest’s ‘elite guard’ was good, Buffy had to admit to herself. She and Duncan had each managed to take one, but they were hurt and exhausted, and these demons were fresh. She heard Xander scream out Willow’s name and alarm coursed through her body, and then rage. Her resolve intensified, and she redoubled her attack.

Duncan saw the Priest glance up, and couldn’t resist a look himself. Methos was standing on the edge of the chasm, a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other, his coat still swirling around his legs, as if he’d just strode up, a glint of steel darkening his normally golden eyes. As Duncan watched, the others approached and flanked him. They looked a bit worse for wear, but they were all alive.

Spike hefted his axe and jumped off the ledge, just as Buffy had done, landing softly. Methos shook his head, and Duncan smiled at their similar reactions. Xander led Methos and Giles down the rough rock face and into the rent in the floor. Anya and Willow remained above.

Willow looked at the Priest, and felt a wash of anger. If Spike had been killed, she might have been tempted, even more tempted, to loose her magic on him. As it was, she was just determined to kill him so that he could not open the Hellmouth. Not this night, or any other. She allowed her magic to touch her.

A soft breeze blew her hair away from her face, and light shone around her. It was a simple glamour, but the reaction it garnered was impressive. The Priest looked up at her, and his eyes went wide.

“The witch!” he yelled to his guard, as he raised his arm and pointed at Willow. “Kill her!”

“You can’t kill me,” Willow spoke softly, but her voice boomed and reverberated around the room. “You should never have come here.”

The Priest raised his arms and began to chant, his eyes reflecting a fanatic glow.

“I thought you bound him,” Anya commented casually.

“I did,” Willow replied.

“Well...can’t you shut him up? He’s giving me a headache,” Anya said. “Plus, oh, no! He’s distracting Xander!” She pointed into the pit. “Stop that!” she yelled at the Priest.

“All right.” Willow shrugged, lifted the loaded crossbow she held at her side, and fired. The first bolt hit the Priest in the chest, puncturing a lung, and he looked up at Willow, stunned, as blood frothed and dribbled from between his lips. The second shot hit him in the left eye.

“Great shot!” Anya cried, slapping Willow on the back and almost toppling her over the edge of the chasm.

“Thanks.” Willow nodded. “But I was aiming for his heart. Went a little high.” And then she fell to her knees, exhausted, dropping the crossbow beside her.

Anya knelt and pulled Willow against her, as both women watched the end of the battle below them. Now that their Priest was dead, the fight seemed to go out of the demons. They were the elite. Returning home without the one they were sent to protect would garner a death sentence. They’d much rather a quick death at the hands of the Slayer and her band than the torture that would await them there.

When all the elite guard were dead, everyone’s attention turned to the Host. He was young, and Buffy found herself in the difficult position of not wanting to kill an innocent whose body was being used for this evil purpose, but not knowing what to do with him. She took a deep breath as she studied him, and then turned her back on him to address her Watcher.

“Buffy!” Willow screamed the warning.

Buffy turned reflexively to see the ‘innocent child’ coming at her with a dagger, and automatically swung the sword she had lowered. The Host fell to the floor, his body nearly severed in two. “Oh, God,” Buffy choked out on this last death.

Giles pulled her into his arms. “It’s over,” he said. “You did well, Buffy. You all did well.” He looked at the rest of the group. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes on Duncan and Methos, who were leaning against each other for support, as were Spike and Xander. Giles smiled with relief. They’d made it. All of his children had made it.

***

“We need to get rid of these bodies,” Giles said, as he surveyed the carnage outside the school.

“Got an idea,” Spike said. “Let’s get them inside with the others.”

“What’s your idea?” Giles asked.

Spike ignored him, grabbed a demon by the leg, and dragged it into the school. Those who still had the stamina, dragged and carried the rest of the dead demons inside to lie beside their comrades, and then gathered up their weapons and magical supplies. When they were done, Spike lit a cigarette and took a long draw on it.

“Give me that other grenade,” he said to Xander, holding his hand out expectantly.

“What are you gonna do?” Xander asked, as he reached into his pocket.

“Gonna finish blowing up the school,” Spike replied with a grin.

“Spike. What are you doing?” Willow asked worriedly, as she saw Xander hand a grenade to the blond.

“Don’t worry, Red.” He pulled her in for a quick kiss. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He turned and ran back into the school.

“No! Spike!” Willow started to run after him, only to be brought up short by Xander’s arm around her waist. “Let me go, Xander!” she cried, staring after Spike as she tried to free herself from Xander’s surprisingly strong hold.

Buffy leaned against Giles, and watched her friend struggle as the man, vamp, she loved ran into danger. She knew she should be more worried, but she figured Spike knew what he was doing, and she was just too tired. She couldn’t remember ever being this tired. She wanted to go home and fall into bed and sleep for a week. A hot bath would also be nice. Maybe a massage.

She glanced over at Duncan and Methos, to see them standing close. They weren’t touching, but their postures as they engaged in a casual, easy conversation told her everything she didn’t want to know. Damn! Why were all the hotties taken? It was so unfair. She dragged her attention back to Willow.

Anya reached out to take Xander’s hand as he held a sobbing Willow in his other arm. Duncan moved closer to Methos so that their shoulders brushed. The seven of them watched the front door in anxious anticipation.

Inside the school, Spike dropped his lit cigarette onto the pile of demons. He watched as the flame caught. He hefted the grenade in his hand, hoping that this one would also find a pocket of gas left over from the first explosion. He moved back to the end of the corridor, pulled the pin, and tossed the grenade back down the hall towards the old library and the burning demon corpses. And then he turned and ran.

“No,” Willow whimpered when they heard the grenade go off. And then the first of a series of explosions began. “Spike!” she screamed, pulling out of Xander’s arms and running towards the building.

“No, Willow!” Buffy ran after her friend, and then saw what Willow had seen, as Spike emerged from the dust. And then a particularly strong blast threw them to their knees as the ground shook, and sent Spike flying through the air.

Willow rolled to her feet and kept running. She dropped to her knees beside Spike, sobbing his name. “Spike! Spike, please.” She shook him, realizing that if he wasn’t dust, he would probably be okay. She hoped.

“Stop shaking me, or I’m gonna heave,” Spike growled.

“Spike!” Willow fell onto him, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re okay,” she whispered.

“Got a Hell of a bloody headache.” He lifted one hand to his head, as the other went around Willow’s back. And then Xander and Buffy were beside them, lifting the both of them to their feet. For a moment they all stood staring at the demolished school.

“We really should get going,” Giles’ voice broke the silence. “Before the authorities arrive.”

“Right,” Spike drawled. “‘Cause we all know how quickly the Sunnydale public servants respond to a crisis.”

“Still,” Giles said. “Two explosions in one night might get their attention.”

Xander, Anya, Willow, and Spike loaded into Xander’s car, Giles, Buffy, Duncan, and Methos into Giles’ convertible, and they drove back to the Magic Box.

***

At the magic shop, they unloaded the cars and dumped everything in the training room. Giles locked the door behind them, turned the light out, and joined the others in the backroom, where Buffy had pulled out their first aid kit. Methos laughed when he saw it. It was bigger than some overnight bags he carried.

Giles glanced at the Immortal leaning against the pommel horse when he pushed through the beaded curtains, and followed his gaze to the first aid kit. “You laugh,” he said with a smile. “But we need to restock that on a weekly basis.”

“I’m not surprised,” Methos replied. “Does this sort of...apocalypse-type-thing happen often?”

“Too often.” Giles allowed himself a moment to watch the young people he thought of as his, as they prepared to dress each other’s wounds. Spike and Xander were sitting on the couch while Buffy, Willow, and Anya raided the first aid kit.

Anya had checked Xander over for broken bones as soon as they got to the magic shop and unloaded their booty, and now turned to him with several alcohol pads in hand. She leaned over him and began cleaning the dirt and blood off of his face, neck, and hands. When she was done, she carefully probed his shoulder.

Willow gently shoved Spike’s legs apart so she could kneel between them. She carefully lifted his torn t-shirt and leaned against the couch to swab at the gash that ran diagonally across his chest and abdomen with an alcohol pad.

“You do know that’ll heal, right?” Spike asked softly, his hands resting on his thighs, his eyes hungrily taking in the red head that was bowed before him.

“Better safe than sorry,” Willow replied, not looking at his face, keeping her eyes trained on the cut that she was gently cleaning. She was so going to kick his...butt for going back into the school with that grenade!

Buffy turned to her Watcher. “Giles, let me clean that cut for you,” she said, as she walked up to him.

“Ah.” Giles pressed his fingertips to the closed cut on the side of his head. “Another head wound.” He shook his head ruefully.

“Well, look at the bright side,” Buffy chirped, as she swiped the pad over the dried blood. “At least you didn’t get knocked out this time.”

“Yes, thank you,” Giles said sarcastically. “And you.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Giles,” Buffy smiled at him. “Or I will be. Slayer healing, you know.”

“I do know,” Giles said. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” He squeezed her shoulder.

While the others were busy, Duncan turned to Methos. “How are you, Old Man?”

“I’m fine, Highlander,” Methos replied.

“Let me see your side.” Duncan reached for Methos’ shirt, and the older Immortal slapped his hands away.

“I said, I’m fine,” he repeated.

“Then you won’t mind me taking a look.” Duncan grabbed one of Methos’ hands and held it in his. “Please.” Duncan knew Methos wasn’t used to being fussed over. But he damned well better *get* used to it.

Methos stared at him, and then closed his eyes and shook his head. “Fine.” He pulled his hand out of Duncan’s and lifted his shirt.

Duncan wiped the blood away from Methos’ skin, exposing the freshly healed wound. There was still a red mark, but that would be gone in minutes. He pushed Methos’ coat out of the way and felt around his side to where the blade had exited the back of his body, making sure that that wound had also healed properly.

“Satisfied?” Methos asked when Duncan straightened and pulled away from him. They both stared at the blood on Duncan’s fingers.

“Not yet,” Duncan’s voice went husky, as he wiped his hand clean on his already ruined jeans. “You think you’re up to it, Old Man?”

Methos stared back at him, his eyes wide with surprise, his skin flushing with desire. “Not yet,” he smirked, looking Duncan over. “But just give me a minute.”

Spike watched Willow purse her lips in concentration as strands of red hair fell forward to cover her face. He reached out without thinking and pushed a strand behind her ear; he liked being able to see her face. He felt her shiver at his touch, but she didn’t look up at him.

He placed his hand back on his thigh, and let the back of his thumbs caress her upper arms. She shivered again and he saw gooseflesh break out over her skin. He lifted his hands to gently cup her arms, and Willow finally stopped her ministrations to raise her eyes to his.

The emotions he saw there nearly floored him. Fear, a little bit of anger, and love. They had told each other during the battle that they loved each other, but people said things in the heat of battle that they might not otherwise. Her eyes told him that she had spoken her true feelings.

“Red,” he whispered.

“You could have died, Spike.” Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.

He tightened his grip on her arms and lifted her at the same time he leaned towards her and lowered his head. Their lips met, and they froze, and then Spike was kissing her, his tongue pressing against her lips. Willow reached for his face and held him as she parted her lips to accept his searching tongue.

Xander turned his head and caught sight of Willow and Spike. “Ack!” he cried out, pointing towards the couple on the couch and covering his eyes with his other hand. “My eyes, my eyes!”

The noise pulled Willow and Spike out of the world where only they existed. Willow blushed as Spike stared into her eyes, but didn’t look away from him.

Spike looked over at Xander, who now sported a goofy smile. “Piss off, ya twit,” he said without heat, before pulling Willow up onto his lap and pressing his lips to hers for another kiss.

Chapter Twenty-One

After Buffy cleaned Giles’ head wound, he cleaned her cuts, paying special attention to the lacerations on her arm. Despite Slayer healing, there was no sense courting an infection. Xander checked Anya over for cuts and gently ran his thumb over the bruises that adorned her throat. Willow sat on the couch while Spike examined her ankle. When he was done, he cleaned most of the green demon blood off her face and neck.

Duncan and Methos were both leaning against the pommel horse, their arms crossed over their chest, shoulders touching. When Giles was finished with her, Buffy walked over to the two Immortals. “What about you guys?” she asked when she stood in front of them with a handful of alcohol wipes.

“We’re fine,” Duncan said.

“No way!” Buffy cried. “Look at all that blood!” She pointed at Methos’ shirt, and before either man could stop her, reached out and lifted it. “Holy... Giles, look at this!” she called to her Watcher without taking her eyes off of Methos’ side. “He’s completely healed,” she said in wonder when Giles stood beside her.

“Do you *always* heal this quickly?” Giles asked, fascinated. The wound Adam had sustained in the old school was nothing like the shallow cut to his hand Giles had seen heal previously.

“Yes,” Methos replied shortly, a light blush suffusing his skin. He was partly embarrassed at being ogled and still wary about sharing their secrets with mortals. “From death, also,” he added, just to have something to say, as he tried to push his shirt down. Duncan just grinned at his discomfort.

“Wow,” Buffy breathed thoughtfully. Hearing about their healing abilities was so different than seeing it in action. “I died once. Don’t want to try it again though.” She gave a small smile as she dropped the shirt and stepped back.

“Yeah, that hurts a little,” Methos mumbled.

Buffy’s gaze caught the pile of weapons, theirs and the ones they’d recovered from the demons. “Oh, crap,” she sighed. “We still have to clean the weapons.”

“Yes, unless you want to throw them all out and buy new,” Giles agreed with a hint of sarcasm.

“Sarcasm is not necessary, Giles,” Buffy renewed a long-standing discussion.

Each of the Scoobies grabbed a weapon, a cloth, and cleaning oil, and began to clean the weapons. Duncan and Methos cleaned their swords and Methos’ dagger, and then assisted in the cleaning of the weapons they’d ‘confiscated’.

Duncan found himself seated beside Buffy. “How do you do it?” he asked. Buffy tilted her head at him as she continued to clean the axe she held.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Fight, day-in and day-out, and manage to win every time. To save everyone.” His thoughts drifted to Richie.

“Oh.” Buffy gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Well, we fight because we have to. This is our home, and our, well, *my* job. My ‘sacred duty’.” She rolled her eyes as she said it. “Did Giles give you the speech? ‘Cause he loves to do that.”

“Yeah, he did.” Duncan smiled at her.

“It’s Giles’ job, too, but he signed up for it...”

“Ponce,” Spike mumbled.

“Be nice,” Willow hissed under her breath.

“Willow and Xander...they found out about vampires and other demons when they were 15 years old. They had no superpowers, no Slayer healing, but that didn’t stop them from wanting to help.”

“But Willow’s a witch, right?” Methos questioned, though it hadn’t looked like he was paying them any attention.

“She is now; wasn’t then,” Buffy explained. “Just a little 15 year old human girl.”

“Still little,” Spike muttered, as he cleaned gore off a spiked mace.

“Hey!” Willow tapped him with the hilt of the sword she was cleaning.

“Unfortunately, however, we don’t save everyone. Tonight we were lucky; no one was seriously injured. But we lose people. Some friends, some acquaintances, some strangers. Not everyone makes it.”

“Jesse,” Xander said sadly, and he and Willow shared a look in memory of their friend.

“And Miss Calendar,” Willow added softly, peering at Giles through lowered lashes.

“Hard as we try,” Buffy continued. “And much as we wish it were different, we can’t save everyone. We save the ones we can, mourn the ones we didn’t, and move on to the next battle. Because that’s what it is. War. And as difficult as it is to accept, there are casualties.” She gave a small, helpless shrugged.

“Do you accept it?” Duncan asked.

“I have to, we have to, or we’d go crazy thinking about the ones we didn’t save. ‘What if’s’ll tear you apart.” Her smile was sad as she thought about Angel.

“How did you get to be so wise?” Methos asked, wondering if Duncan had heard, really *heard* anything the young girl had said. He glanced over at the Scot, who was staring unseeing at the weapon he was cleaning. As if he felt Methos’ eyes on him, Duncan glanced up, brown eyes locking on hazel. Duncan gave him a small smile and nodded his head. Perhaps he did understand. And maybe now he could allow himself some peace. Finally.

Spike snorted. “You’re talking about Buffy, right?” he asked.

“Spike,” Willow said in a warning voice, and slapped the back of his head.

“Shut up, Spike,” Buffy muttered.

“Oi! Watch it witch!” Spike growled playfully at her.

“Can we go home?” Anya asked. “I’m so tired I’m not even going to make Xander give me any orgasms before we go to sleep.”

“Thank you, honey,” Xander muttered, in a combination of gratitude and embarrassment.

***

When the weapons had all been cleaned and packed away in the trunk, the eight warriors turned out the lights in the backroom and headed for the front of the shop. They separated into the two cars. Giles dropped Duncan and Methos off at their hotel, and then dropped Buffy off at her mother’s house instead of the dorm before heading to his own apartment. After tonight’s battle, she wanted to go to sleep and wake up in the familiar surroundings of her own bedroom; to the comfort of having her mother near.

Xander and Anya dropped a blushing Willow and Spike off at Willow’s parents’ house. Her father was the guest speaker at a psychiatric seminar in Munich. Before that, he had been lecturing at a University in England. Her parents were often out of town, and the house usually stood empty. Until tonight.

“You all right with this?” Spike asked, watching Willow’s hand shake as she tried to insert the key into the lock.

“Yes.” Willow nodded, blushing again.

Spike leaned against the house and looked around them. “Almost dawn,” he commented. “Sun’ll be up soon.”

“That’s not helping,” Willow replied, as she struggled with the key.

“What? Oh, sorry. Here.” Spike gently pushed her hands out of the way. “Let me get it.” He turned the key, and then twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“Thanks,” Willow said a little breathlessly, as she stepped through the open doorway and flipped on the light in the entry. “C-come in, Spike,” she stammered, turning to watch the vampire walk through the doorway as the invisible barrier dissolved.

Willow set her book bag on the floor and took her jacket off as Spike pushed the door closed and made sure it was locked. “You, uh, wanna take your duster off?” she asked.

Spike shrugged out of the duster and hung it up beside Willow’s coat. They stared at each other for a moment before Willow nervously pointed down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Want a drink...or anything?” she asked.

Spike shook his head ‘no’, afraid that if he spoke he’d startle her. He held his hand out and Willow stared at it, and then slowly extended her own hand, placing it in his. “Upstairs?” he asked, and Willow nodded.

Spike pulled her towards him and leaned down to place a gentle, reassuring kiss on her lips before urging her up the stairs ahead of him. Willow grabbed the banister for support as she squeezed Spike’s hand. When they reached the top of the stairs, Willow turned off the light and led him into her bedroom, their path lit by the faint illumination provided by the lightening sky.

Willow made sure the drapes were pulled across the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, and then turned to Spike. She reached out to run her hand over the jagged tear in the t-shirt, then lifted it up so she could run her fingers over the newly healed skin covering his chest and stomach.

“I was scared,” she said. “When the demon cut you.” Now that they were safely home and alone, she allowed a tear of relief to fall from her eye.

“Aw, Red, don’t cry, luv.” Spike wiped the tear off her cheek with his thumb and pulled her into his arms. Willow lay her head on Spike’s chest and let him comfort her.

“This isn’t exactly what you had in mind for tonight, is it?” she asked softly, her voice still a little shaky from unshed tears.

“Being with you is exactly what I had in mind,” Spike assured her. “Just being with you is good.”

“I think I need a shower,” Willow sniffled. She was covered in dust, and demon blood, and sweat. She must look quite a mess, and probably smelled pretty rank, too.

Spike perked up, and Willow felt the change in his posture. “Shower sounds good.” She lifted her head to see him smirking down at her.

***

The moment they were inside the room, Duncan grabbed Methos by his lapels and pushed the older Immortal back against the closed door. He lowered his head and kissed the other man with a heat and desperate longing borne of surviving yet another battle. He hadn’t taken a Quickening, but the surge of adrenaline from the fight, from the victory, still rushed through his body.

Methos gripped Duncan’s shoulders and held on as the younger man plundered his mouth. It seemed that he had waited all of his 5000 years to find this man. That he could want Methos as much as Methos wanted him amazed him. Methos felt his body respond to Duncan’s demanding touch.

Duncan ran his lips down to Methos’ neck, where he nibbled and sucked as his hands moved the other man’s shirt out of the way and explored the expanse of his stomach and chest, paying special attention to the side where he had been injured.

“What are you doing, MacLeod?” Methos shivered as the twin sensations of Duncan’s tongue at his neck and light touch at his side tickled. “You got a thing for doors I should know about?”

“Just making sure you’re still in one piece, Methos.” Duncan lifted his head and smiled at Methos.

“Oh,” Methos replied breathlessly, his face a little flushed, lips a little swollen. “Well, I am in a bit of pain, actually.”

“Where?” Duncan asked immediately, all thoughts of kissing and teasing banished.

“Right...here.” Methos placed Duncan’s hand over his straining erection, and Duncan felt his own cock jump in response.

“I told you,” Duncan began, as he practically tore the button off Methos’ jeans. “I’m not a doctor.” He unzipped the jeans and shoved them aside. “But I’ll see what I can do.” Before Methos could read his intentions, Duncan had dropped to his knees and was tenderly stroking Methos’ flesh, and then he took him into his mouth.

Methos groaned aloud and grabbed Duncan’s head as the other man moved his mouth up and down Methos’ cock, his hand between Methos’ legs fondling his heavy sac. Suddenly, Duncan let go of him and stood up. “Better?” he asked solicitously.

“No,” Methos ground out. “In fact, I think you’ve made it worse.”

“Oh,” Duncan replied thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t expected that answer. He studied Methos’ erection, and then looked into the other man’s darkened eyes. “Maybe you just need to lie down.” And then he grinned.

“I think I’ll need help getting there,” Methos grinned back. “I am injured, and your elder, after all.”

“Don’t worry, Old Man,” Duncan breathed, as he slid Methos’ coat off his shoulders. “I plan on helping.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Spike made sure that Willow’s hair was thoroughly wet before squeezing some shampoo into his hands and working it into a lather. He sniffed the shampoo before applying it to her hair. Peppermint; his eyes began to water from breathing in too deeply.

Willow moaned as he worked the lather through her hair and massaged her scalp. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” she said.

“Know I don’t have to,” he replied absently. “Want to. Used to wash...,” he cut off.

“What?” Willow asked.

“Nothing, luv.” He shook his head and paid rapt attention to the suds in her hair.

“Spike, it’s something. Now tell me,” Willow insisted.

“I used to wash Dru’s hair,” he said without looking at her.

“Must be why you’re so good,” Willow replied with a deep sigh of satisfaction. “You’ve had practice. Hey! Over one hundred years of practice! You can wash my hair every day, if you want,” she added, putting a hand out to the wall to hold herself up as she began to sway, her body relaxing at his touch. “Oh, did you paint her nails, too?”

“Why?” Spike asked warily, as he rinsed her hair.

“‘Cause they looked really nice, and I figured you could do mine, if you wanted,” she sleepily explained her reasoning.

“You want me to paint your nails?” Spike asked, his eyes wide.

“Not tonight,” Willow assured him with a wave of her hand. “Or even tomorrow. Just...sometime. If you want.” She was so relaxed she slurred her words and Spike might have thought she was drunk if he didn’t know better.

“Do I get to suck on your toes?” Spike asked near her ear. Willow froze.

“My toes are ticklish,” she squeaked.

“Even better.” His voice was husky as he ran soap slicked hands over her shoulders and down her arms, and Willow shivered.

***

Duncan and Methos were standing beside the bed, naked except for their jeans, the rest of their clothes strewn in a path behind them that led back to the door. Duncan ran his hands over Methos’ chest, his thumbs skimming over the older Immortal’s nipples, and down to his stomach. He trailed his fingers over Methos’ abdominals, watching them jump at the light, teasing touch.

Methos would have complained, but he was too busy exploring Duncan’s body, his hands tracing a path down Duncan’s back. He closed his eyes, a picture of Duncan’s back, flesh, and muscle and bone, filling his mind as he memorized the feel of him with his fingertips. He pressed his fingers into Duncan’s lower back, and then slipped them beneath the waistband of his jeans.

He cupped Duncan’s ass and pulled Duncan against him, their groins pressing together, their erections trapped between them. “Methos,” Duncan gasped, as he let his forehead fall onto the other man’s shoulder, his fingers gripping the other man’s arms. “Oh, God, Methos, I need to feel you inside me.” His pleading voice was hoarse with desire.

Methos closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, the sound of Duncan’s deep voice pleading, and the thought of sliding inside the other man’s tight heat, almost his undoing. With one hand on Duncan’s ass, Methos lifted his other hand to Duncan’s chin, lifting his face to Methos’ own. He placed soft, gentle kisses on Duncan’s eyes, his cheeks, and finally his lips, as both hands moved to the waistband of Duncan’s jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, and sliding them and his boxers down his hips.

Methos pulled slightly away and then backed Duncan up to the bed. Duncan sat and Methos removed his jeans and boxers, tossing them to the side, and then turned away and went into the bathroom. He returned with a small bottle of complimentary lotion and tossed it on the bed before stopping in front of Duncan and slowly, sensuously sliding his own jeans and boxers down his hips and long, lean legs.

Duncan watched him hungrily. Methos put one hand on Duncan’s shoulder and pushed him down onto his back, as he placed one knee and then the other on either side of Duncan’s hips. “Slide up, Duncan,” Methos whispered, laving a nipple before it moved out of his reach as Duncan obeyed.

***

Spike pressed one knee into the mattress as he laid Willow upon the bed. Water droplets covered her skin like morning dew, and Spike trailed his fingers through them, marking a path from her collar bone to her navel.

“Spike.” Willow’s voice was breathless. He’d teased her as he cleansed her, and her tiredness had been washed away with the soap suds.

Spike glanced at her flushed face, and watched the blood rise to the surface of the normally pale skin covering her body. He could hear the blood racing through her veins with each beat of her pounding heart; hear each ragged breath she took. He lowered his head to her chest and took a breast into his mouth, one hand curled over her hip, the other buried in her wet hair.

Willow arched off the bed at the touch of his cool tongue on her heated flesh. A benefit to sleeping with a vampire that she hadn’t realized, she thought, and almost laughed, until he let most of her breast slip from his mouth to suck hard on her nipple as he ran his tongue over it.

“Spike!” Willow hissed. Her back bowed, and she pressed her thighs together as she dug her fingers into the bed. Spike moved his attentions to her other breast, subjecting it to the same treatment. When Willow was nearly incoherent, Spike moved up her body and licked her neck, then sucked on the sensitive spot over her pulse point, and gently bit down.

Willow ran her hand up the inside of Spike’s thigh. She cupped his balls and gently squeezed, and shivered again when he growled softly against her neck. “Harder,” he groaned into her ear, and Willow tightened her hold as he continued to rumble against her ear.

She felt his body shudder. “Touch me.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, and then licked it. “Please, touch me.”

Willow let go of the sac and ran her open palm up his shaft until she reached his head. She closed her fingers around him and traced her thumb over the tip and through the precum oozing from the slit. Spike tilted her head back and kissed her roughly as she started moving her hand up and down his length.

He pulled away from her and pushed her hand away from his cock, then crawled between her legs. Willow began to mewl in anticipation as Spike spread her thighs and pushed her legs up, and then his tongue was on her, in her. Willow pressed her heels into the mattress and gripped the sheet with one hand, as she clutched Spike’s hair with the other and lifted her hips against his face.

Spike licked and sucked at her most sensitive flesh, slipping his tongue between her folds, stroking the hidden bundle of nerves, bringing her to the edge and then pulling her back, until she was begging him to let her come. He rose up over her, positioned his head at her entrance, and bit his lower lip as he slowly slid into her.

Willow grabbed his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips, taking him all the way into her, crying out as he filled her. Spike growled; morphing as her tight, wet heat surrounded him. Willow ran her fingers over his ridges, and Spike buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her as he drove into her.

Willow tightened her thighs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust as he slammed into her. Her nails dug into Spike’s back as her muscles started to tense. She arched her neck, and Spike sucked on the offering. Willow cried out as her orgasm ripped through her body. Spike let go of her neck and roared her name as Willow’s muscles clenched around him, milking him, and then he exploded into her.

Spike carefully lowered himself onto Willow. They lay silent; Willow’s harsh breathing, and her pulse pounding in her ears, the only sounds, their bodies still quaking in the aftermath as they recovered from their climaxes. Finally Willow recovered enough to speak.

“Blanket,” she said. Spike didn’t move. “Need blanket. You may make a nice snuggle bunny, but you’re not gonna make me warm... Well!” She gave a breathless laugh. “Unless you do what you just did again, but that might kill me, so maybe not.” She frowned.

Spike lifted his head and looked down at her serious face. With a grin, he pulled out of her and rolled them both to the side, pulling the blankets down behind her. He rolled them back over, and pulled the blankets on the other side of the bed down, and then shifted their legs beneath them.

Willow giggled as Spike pulled her against him, and she rested her head on his chest. “That was nice,” she said, her finger tracing a pattern on his chest.

“*Nice*?” Spike raised an eyebrow.

Willow smiled, and he could practically hear her blushing. “Very nice,” she amended.

***

Duncan slid up the bed and reclined against the pillows. He watched Methos’ dark head lower as the other man licked and sucked on the inside of his thigh, slowly working his way up. Duncan almost groaned aloud as Methos bypassed his hard, aching flesh, to concentrate on the soft, sensitive skin where hip met thigh.

Methos ran his tongue over Duncan’s stomach, sucking on the skin around his navel, and then dipping inside. Duncan’s hands grabbed both sides of Methos’ head. He didn’t try to stop him, or force him, just held onto him.

Methos moved up Duncan’s body and stroked the flat of his tongue over Duncan’s nipple, and then flicked it with the tip. Methos raised his eyes to Duncan’s as he closed his teeth over the hard nub and worried it. Duncan groaned, and then ran his fingers through Methos’ hair, cupping the back of his head.

The older Immortal lowered his hips until their erections were touching, and rubbed them together. “Methos,” Duncan whispered his name just before Methos covered his lips and stole a kiss.

“Want to be inside you,” Methos said. He pulled away from Duncan and sat up, the small bottle of lotion in his hand. He squeezed some lotion onto his fingers and Duncan spread his legs, drawing his knees up. Methos moved his hand to Duncan’s most hidden place, and gently massaged the puckered hole with his thumb.

Methos slowly slid one finger inside Duncan, pushing it past the ring of muscle, twisting it to coat the tight passage with the lotion. He pulled the finger out and pressed in two, twisting his fingers to make sure Duncan was well lubricated, and then gently scissoring them to stretch him. He was so busy concentrating on opening Duncan to his touch, he didn’t notice the other man pour lotion into his palm until he took Methos’ cock in his hand.

Methos hissed in pleasure as Duncan moved his hand up and down Methos’ length, coating his hard flesh with the lotion. Duncan let his nail graze the tip of Methos’ penis, and paid special attention to the bundle of nerves below the ridge while Methos probed his body, reaching for the small nub that would rock Duncan.

Both men gasped in pleasure, but neither stopped their ministrations. Methos finally pushed Duncan’s hands away from his cock. “If you don’t stop, it’s going to be over,” he hissed out a breath.

Duncan reluctantly pulled his hand away from Methos and grabbed the other man’s wrist. “You too, Methos,” he growled. “I want you inside me when I come.”

“My pleasure.” Methos grinned as he carefully pulled his fingers out of Duncan. He lifted Duncan’s hips and placed his head at the puckered entrance to the other man’s body. He flexed his hips and pressed in, the ring of muscle closing tightly around him. He continued to push until he was completely sheathed in the other man’s ass.

He stopped and looked up at Duncan, who was staring back at him, wide brown eyes slightly glazed with desire. “Methos,” he pleaded, and Methos began to move his hips, pulling out of the other man, and then sliding back in. He felt himself spill some of his built-up semen into the other man, easing the friction.

Methos began to move more easily. He changed his angle until he found Duncan’s prostate. Duncan grabbed the bed with one hand and his own cock with the other as Methos drove into him, hitting the gland with each thrust. He watched Duncan’s face as wave after wave of pleasure wracked his body.

Shoving Duncan’s hand aside, Methos lubricated Duncan’s shaft with the precum weeping from the slit, then wrapped his fingers around it and slid his hand down the length of it, and then back up, his thumb pressing against the nerves below the ridge. Then Methos held onto Duncan’s hip with one hand and thrust into him, riding his ass with the same rhythm he pumped his cock.

Duncan reached out for Methos, gripping the older Immortal’s shoulder with one hand, the bed sheets with the other as he came. His cock jerked in Methos’ grip, shooting his release over Methos’ hand, his own chest and stomach, and the bed, and his muscles tightened around Methos’ cock.

Duncan watched as Methos lifted his hand to his mouth and tasted Duncan, then lowered himself over the younger man and drove into him. He wrapped his arms around the older Immortal’s shoulders and felt Methos’ body still, and then his flesh pulsing inside him as Methos erupted, filling him with warm fluid.

When Methos was empty, his arms gave out and he fell onto Duncan’s chest, his face beneath his chin. The other man let out an ‘Oomph!’, and then tightened his arms around him.

“Duncan,” Methos softly spoke his name.

“Methos,” Duncan replied.

“I’ve wanted that...so long...wanted you.” Methos ran his hand over Duncan’s shoulder, not wanting to stop touching him.

“You only had to say,” Duncan whispered, one hand sliding into Methos’ hair to press his face against him as he rested his chin on the dark head.

Methos snorted. “I could just see you running for the hills, Highlander!”

“Not running anywhere,” Duncan promised.

“No,” Methos sighed. “You’re not.”

“And you,” Duncan asked softly. “Will you be running?”

Methos lifted his head and looked into Duncan’s eyes. “Hmmph! You need someone to watch your back, MacLeod. And I think I’m just the man for the job.” He laid his head back down. “Leave you alone for a minute and you get yourself into all sorts of trouble,” Methos continued to grouse.

After several moments of silence, Duncan asked, “Was that my back, or my backside you were going to watch?”

“Kinda partial to both,” Methos responded sleepily.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this fic has been posted without re-editing.


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